


The Melody You Never Heard

by bananasandboots



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camping, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananasandboots/pseuds/bananasandboots
Summary: It's one last adventure. One last chance to be young and carefree. One final weekend before they take up their internships, their corporate positions, before they enter the real world, fresh out of university. Niall's his best mate. Liam's been there for him since they were lost, little freshmen, trying to find their ways through an overwhelming first year. Harry can't disappoint them, even if it means enduring four days with Louis.Louis, who he does share a history with, a history he's never told anyone about, not even Niall, a history he hasn't brought up in three years because it's stupid and embarrassing and confusing.Or, the one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.





	The Melody You Never Heard

As soon as Niall climbs out of the car and shuts the passenger-side door, Harry's hand shoots for the key, his fingers about five seconds away from giving it a turn, restarting the engine, and driving the fuck out of the godforsaken forest.

There's a tap on his window, stubby fingernails drumming against the glass and waving for him to roll it down. Harry refuses, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Are you just going to hide in there forever?" Niall shouts through the glass. He cups his hands over his eyes to peer inside, and Harry sighs, arms crossed, head pushed against his headrest.

"Niall, if you think I'm spending four days stranded in the woods with _him,_ then you're out of your fucking mind."

He nods towards the clearing, where the trees open up and there's just enough room for a few tents and an empty fire pit, where there's two blokes standing around, one of them sweeping broken twigs and fallen leaves out of the area, the other sitting at the picnic table, fidgeting and bouncing his leg, lips pressed tight, cheeks sucked in, deep crease indented between his eyebrows. He looks about as wound-up as Harry feels. He looks like he might throw a punch if Harry gets within ten feet of him. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, like he's been unwillingly dragged into this forest as well, like he's a fucking runway model pulled straight off the catwalk and dropped in the middle of the woods.

After driving for three hours straight, no toilet breaks, no food stops, no getting out to stretch his aching legs, there is absolutely no way Harry is stepping outside of his vehicle, not with Louis Tomlinson standing thirty paces away and looking like _that._

He rolls down the window just enough for Niall to hear him.

"I can't stay here," he says. "Not with him. I can't. He hates me."

"He doesn't," Niall insists. "What reason would he have to hate you? He hardly even knows you."

"He apparently knows me enough."

"He's harmless."

Harry shakes his head. "Niall, there's a reason I stay home every time I hear you've invited him. Any time we're out together, it's like he plasters a target on my back and makes it his mission to ruin my night. Remember that time at pub?"

"You're going to have to elaborate." Niall folds his arms atop the glass and leans inside.

"He spilled my beer on my lap."

A full pint, straight from the bar. Harry had literally just returned with it and taken a seat next to Louis, when Louis' elbow shot out and tipped it over. It hadn't been an accident. He'd done it completely on purpose and he hadn't even offered to help clean up.

"That was once," Niall argues.

Harry tries to shake the frustration out from under his skin. "It was _twice_ , actually," he corrects. "And he's always such an _arse._ Like, I get it, he doesn't like me. He's made that much clear _years_ ago. I just wish he wouldn't have to remind me every time I step into the same room as him."

"Then it's a good thing we're outside," Niall deadpans.

Harry goes to turn the engine back on, already checking his mirrors to make sure no one's behind him. None of this is funny. He doesn't want to be here. He can already imagine the amount of shit Louis is going to give him if he steps one foot outside of the confines of his car.

"Harry, relax," Niall sighs. "It's going to be fine. I don't know what his problem is, I don't know what sort of history you two have, but we drove all the way out here for one last adventure together and I'm not letting you leave."

The guilt hits Harry like a rough kick to the stomach. It's one last adventure. One last chance to be young and carefree. One final weekend before they take up their internships, their corporate positions, before they enter the real world, fresh out of university. Niall's his best mate. Liam's been there for him since they were lost, little freshmen, trying to find their ways through an overwhelming first year. Harry can't disappoint them, even if it means enduring four days with Louis.

Louis, who he does share a history with, a history he's never told anyone about, not even Niall, a history he hasn't brought up in three years because it's stupid and embarrassing and confusing. And he can't believe after spending an entire night three years ago falling for the boy with the blue eyes and the crooked smile from dusk to dawn, that he'd been naive enough to scribble his number on his arm and expect him to call. But he had been, and Louis had never called, and things have been ruined between them ever since.

"Fine," he mutters, rolling his window up and wrenching his key from the ignition. He'll do it. For his friends, his _actual_ friends. He'll do it and endure whatever Louis throws his way, and maybe, just _maybe_ , by the time they pack up and drive out of there in a few days, he'll have figured out what went wrong those three years ago, how Louis went from snogging him in a bathtub one weekend to treating him like the rubbish beneath his feet the next.

He climbs out of his car and loops the elastic on his wrist around his hair, knotting it at the back of his head. He doesn't spare Louis another glance as he shuts the door and pockets his keys, but he can already feel the extra set of eyes on him. It sends a chill up his spine, gets his palms sweaty, makes him stumble over the first uneven patch of dirt his feet can find.

"Watch your step, Bambi."

Heat floods Harry's face. Blood pounds in his ears.

"Did you really wear _suede boots_ to a campground?"

Harry takes a deep breath and flicks his sunglasses out of his hair and over his eyes. "I have trainers in the car," he says. "It's nice to see you, too, Louis."

"Right," Louis nods. "Well, I'm just glad you made it in time for Liam's erection contest."

"His _what?"_ Niall barks out a laugh beside Harry as they make their way to the table.

"His erection contest," Louis repeats himself with a self-satisfied smirk. "That's what you called it, right, Payno?"

"For the last time, I meant _tent-building_ contest," Liam huffs and comes over to join them. "Why must you pervert everything that comes out of anyone's mouth ever?"

"Not just _anyone's_ mouth," Louis says. "Only yours. And to be fair, I didn't pervert anything. You did say it was an erection contest."

"Of _tents."_

"Semantics." Louis shrugs and turns back to Harry and Niall.

Harry ignores him. He ignores the way Louis' eyes drop down to his boots, the way they slowly crawl back up to his face, the way he shakes his head after the appraisal, like Harry's the worst thing he's ever seen, like he can't be taken seriously. Harry ignores him and his childish jokes, and it feels good, not giving him the satisfaction of a laugh. He doesn't deserve one.

"Did Niall tell you we were camping?" Louis asks.

"Yes," Harry frowns. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Louis snorts and stands from the bench, hand patting Harry's shoulder with more condescension than Harry can handle as he struts past him on the way to Liam's car.

"Nothing's wrong," he throws over his shoulder. "Just can't wait to see you try and put together a tent in those skinnies."

Liam laughs and taps Harry on the arse as he goes to join Louis, and Harry hates this. He truly, honestly does.

"He'll get over it," Niall murmurs, wrapping both arms around Harry's waist and pulling him in for a cuddle. "He just needs to get it out of his system."

"But you believe me now?" Harry asks, tipping his head onto Niall's bony shoulder. He heaves a great sigh.

"I don't think he's as bad as he seems," Niall says rather unhelpfully. "Just don't let him get to you. If he senses any weakness, he'll just keep on going."

"So you want me to laugh when he takes the piss out of me?"

Niall shakes his head and squeezes his hip. "Don't encourage him," he says, "but don't ignore him either. Just don't let him get to you."

\---

Not letting Louis get to him turns out to be a lot easier in theory than in actual practice. To start with, Louis is the only one of the four of them to not have a tent, which leaves him with plenty of time to become an even greater nuisance and stick himself in all of their business.

For a while, he claims he's on firewood duty, disappearing down the road for a walk and coming back empty handed, announcing that the firewood truck would be around shortly. He pops open a folding chair in the meantime and plants himself in the middle of all of the activity, kicking his trainers off and tucking his feet up beneath him. He doesn't even offer to help Liam. Liam, whose tent he'll be sharing, who drove him out to the woods, who will probably have to save him from the wild at least ten times before their trip is over.

Instead, he shouts what he must think are helpful tips at all of them, going after Niall first, his tent directly under a tree branch that's "sure to get bird shit all over it." Niall flips him off and doesn't move, doesn't seem concerned in the slightest bit - probably because there aren't even any birds around - and doesn't listen to anything else Louis suggests.

It's Liam who gets it next. Louis tries to convince him that there's a pinecone still under his canvas, and they spend a good five minutes bickering back and forth over whether or not it's worth undoing all of his progress just to check. Liam catches on eventually, figures out for himself that Louis' just trying to screw with him, and continues piecing his tent together like some wild man, born in the forest, raised in the campground.

Harry just shakes his head, hitches his jeans up so his arse doesn't slip out, and squats in the dirt to sort through the rest of his poles.

"Styles, you alright over there?"

Harry nods. "Yes, Louis, I'm fine."

"Really?" Louis asks. "Because your tent's looking like shit and you've got dirt all over your arse."

"Why do you keep looking at my arse?" Harry asks. He turns to glare at Louis, finds him draped over the chair, sunglasses on and a map of the campground spread open across his chest.

Louis raises an eyebrow at him. "Maybe because you keep pulling your trousers halfway up your crack with your back towards me and it's making me worry about the well-being of your testicles."

"They're fine," Harry informs him. A bit sweaty, but he'll change into a pair of shorts once his tent is finished and he has a bit of privacy. Nothing Louis needs to be concerned with.

"Are you just going to sit there and watch us?" Harry calls over to him, slipping a pole into the lining of his tent and trying to figure out how on earth he's supposed to get everything to stand. It's like putting together the worst sort of puzzle.

"Might do," Louis shrugs. He sweeps his fringe off his forehead. "Why? Does anyone need my help?"

No one answers for a moment. Harry wipes his face on his sleeve and turns to have a peek at Niall and Liam's handiwork, finds them both nearly finished, tents standing, canvas stretched tight between the poles.

"Reckon I've almost got it," Niall mumbles absently, his instructions discarded and set under a rock to keep from blowing away.

Liam shakes his head, grunts something that sounds similar to Niall's response, and goes back to staking his tent in place.

"And you, Harry?" Louis asks like he already knows the answer. "Would _you_ like my help?"

Harry stares at the disaster before him. It's not, like, completely _awful._ It's just a work in progress. He opens his mouth to decline, to half-heartedly insist that he's okay, but before he can get any words out, there's the squeak of a chair emptying, a crunch of gravel, Louis coming to his side and snatching the instructions out of his hands.

Harry blinks at him, waits for the next strain of abuse to come spilling from Louis' pursed lips as Louis surveys his progress, but a moment passes, and then another, and Louis stays quiet through it all, doesn't say anything.

Harry can't believe he's kissed those lips. He can't believe that one night never amounted to anything more.

_Don't let him get to you._

He takes a steadying breath. He can play Louis' games, he can give him what he wants. If it means preserving his sanity, he can feed into Louis' antics for a few days.

"Well?" he starts, thumbs hooking into the pockets of his jeans. "Are you just going to stare at the thing, or are you actually going to help me with this erection?"

The grin that stretches out across Louis' face is enough to pull at something deep within Harry's chest, something he remembers feeling those three years ago.

"I knew you couldn't resist a penis joke," Louis laughs, satisfied. He turns and slaps the instructions against Harry's chest. "Come on, you helpless tosser. Let's get this thing up and running."

"I'm not helpless," Harry argues.

"No," Louis agrees as he starts lifting the front of the tent off the pile of canvas, "but Liam's just finished with his and Niall will have his up soon enough and you're just cute enough that I feel sorry for you."

"Just cute _enough?"_

"Don't push it, mate." Louis snorts, rolls his eyes. "All you have to do is bend these main pieces then stake it all in place. You think you can handle that?"

"Probably," Harry shrugs.

Still, he doesn't push Louis away and Louis doesn't abandon him. He grabs the mallet and a set of plastic stakes from the storage bag, sets to work while Louis holds the tent steady and in place. If they bump elbows a few times, if Louis catches him staring at his bum, if Harry catches him doing the same, nobody turns it into World War III.

They finish constructing Harry's tent and everything is fine. Niall and Liam snag a huge pile of firewood from the truck when it comes around, Harry changes into a pair of denim shorts he cut from an old pair of jeans, Louis goes down to the lake to dip his toes in the water, and everything is fine.

Everything is fine until Louis comes back, rubbing a hand over his stomach, looking for the food.

"I don't know where the food is," Harry insists. He throws his sleeping bag into the open flap of his tent and zips it up. "Wasn't Liam supposed to bring it?"

Louis shakes his head. "Liam brought the beer. You and Niall were supposed to bring the food."

"Oh," Harry says. He's afraid to say much more. As far as he remembers, the only things left in the boot of his car are a cool box full of beer, Niall's portable grill, and a stack of old pots and pans. "I'll, um... I'll check the car. Try helping them with the fire in the meantime."

"They don't need my help," Louis claims as he starts following him.

Harry doesn't know how to shake him off.

"Do they have enough kindling?" he tries. "What if you bring them some twigs? Some fallen tree bark?"

"I think they know how to make a fire better than I do," Louis asserts.

"I don't know, they've been at it for a while now."

"Harry," Louis says, and the tone of his voice has Harry wincing, waiting for what comes next. "Is there something wrong, Harry? Something you don't want me to know?"

"No," Harry insists. He steps in front of Louis, blocks his way to the back of his car and nearly trips him up.

Louis' grabs a handful of the back of his shirt and gives a harsh tug.

"Please tell me you have the food," he mutters through gritted teeth as Harry stumbles back against him. He grips Harry's shoulders and spins him around, and for a disorienting second, all Harry can see is the fire - not in the pit where it should be, but in Louis' eyes.

"I don't know," he admits quietly.

"What do you mean you _don't know?"_

"I mean I don't know if there's any food," Harry almost whispers. "I don't remember packing any. I don't remember buying any. All Niall brought was beer, but you said Liam brought that, too."

Louis digs his fingers into Harry's shoulders, eyes narrowing, mouth twisting into this awful snarl. "Are you telling me there's no food?"

Before Harry can answer, he finds himself being pushed backwards against the open boot of his car. He twists around before Louis can punch him in the face, and immediately starts rummaging through the remaining boxes, checking behind the beers, searching frantically through his and Niall's rucksacks for anything besides the five granola bars and the package of marshmallows he'd stuffed in at the last minute. Nothing. There's no fucking food.

"Niall?" he calls, panicked.

Louis hip-checks him out of the way, his own hands scouring the back of Harry's car for anything he can come up with. Harry steps aside and lets him. He can't face him. He can only stare at their meager food supply and the entire box full of beer, his hand shaking where its clutching a single granola bar.

"I hope you like chocolate chip," he mumbles and forces it into Louis' hand.

Louis stares at the wrapper. "Am I supposed to make this last four days?"

"Don't forget, we also have beer." Harry grabs a can and passes that over, as well.

"Get in the car, Styles," Louis commands as he pops open the tab and takes a sip. "I saw a market twenty minutes back on the road. At the rate they're going with that fire, we can make it there and back before Liam even figures out how to light a match stick."

"I thought he was Mr. Outdoors?" Harry asks. He starts unclipping his keys from his belt loop.

"Why?" Louis asks. "Because he managed to put a tent together in under five minutes?"

Harry glances over at his beautifully constructed tent, the only one of the three built on flat land, poles stuck firmly in the ground, standing like an advert for the wilderness.

He shrugs. "I mean, that's impressive, right?"

Louis just rolls his eyes.

"If we get any wind tonight, that thing is going to collapse on him," he says. "I'm sleeping with you."

Harry's heart throws itself straight into his esophagus.

"What?" he squawks, face heating immediately with the way his voice cracks. "You can't just invite yourself into my tent. It barely has enough room for me let alone the both of us."

"Not my problem," Louis insists, walking up to the passenger side of Harry's car. "There's no way I'm actually sleeping with Liam. You have no idea how loud he snores."

He throws open the door and climbs inside. Harry stops him just before he can close it, wedging himself in the way.

"I snore," he says.

Louis lets out a ridiculously charming laugh, and Harry hates every bit of it.

"Sure," he says, trying to shove him out of the way. "I bet your snores are those cute, little snuffly ones. I reckon I could sleep through that."

"That's what you think."

"Why?" Louis smirks. "Does your boyfriend have a problem with it?"

Harry frowns. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Right, you two just broke up. Sorry, I should have known."

"We broke up in November," Harry tells him. It's been seven months since he's had a boyfriend, if he could even call Timothy a boyfriend. They'd only been seeing each other since the start to term, a blind date turned into a half-arsed relationship, just a bit of fun on both of their parts.

"Was it because of the snoring?" Louis asks.

Harry snorts and ducks his head to toe at the dirt beneath his feet.

"No," he says, "it was because I didn't love him."

"And he loved you?"

"Hardly," Harry scoffs. "And what's wrong with Niall? Why don't you hijack his tent?"

"Niall farts in his sleep," Louis sighs, leaning back against the seat. "You're my last resort, that's the only reason I even bothered to help you. Now can you please get in the car? I refuse to starve to death in the middle of the bloody forest."

"Okay, but you're reading the map," Harry tells him. He reaches for the glove box to retrieve the one Niall had been using earlier, but Louis swats his hand away. Of course he does.

"I know where we're going," he says. "Get in the fucking car."

He kicks Harry out of the way and slams the door in his face, leaving Harry to blink at his own reflection in the window, brows furrowed, corners of his mouth turned down. He wants to scream. He wants to reach through the glass and strangle the endlessly frustrating boy on the other side. He wants to drag him out by the front of his shirt and maybe kiss him on the mouth and tell him how beautiful he is, but he also wants to drop his arse on the side of a back road and leave him there to rot.

He's quite conflicted.

All he knows is it's going to be a long four days, even longer if he doesn't get in the car and start the engine in ten seconds.

"We're going to the market," he shouts over his shoulder as he rounds the boot and climbs into the driver's seat. "Try not to burn the forest down while we're gone."

Niall calls back something unintelligible as Harry pulls the door shut, and then it's just the two of them, him and Louis, trapped within five feet of each other in the cramped confines of the car.

"It smells like balls in here," Louis complains as he takes another sip of his beer.

Harry refrains from slamming his own head into the steering wheel and purposely breaking his nose.

"Then don't breathe," he grits out instead, and starts backing out of their campsite, onto the paved road.

He turns the radio on to try and reduce the need for conversation, but all he gets is static. They're so far out in the middle of fucking nowhere that they can't even get any music, can't get a signal on their phones, probably couldn't even call an ambulance if one of them tripped over a tree root and cracked open their skull.

He lets the silence fall over them, concentrates on the rumble of his engine, drives and drives and doesn't acknowledge the boy beside him, quietly nursing his beer, until Louis' shouting at him that they missed the turn-off, that they're going to starve, that they don't have enough alcohol to get him through this trip.

"We have an entire year's worth of beer!" Harry shouts back, elbowing Louis away from him as he waits at a red light to make a U-turn. "For fuck's sake, get off of me before I crash."

"Into what?" Louis blurts, hands flailing in front of the wind screen. "We're the only other car on this road. There's no other living soul within ten kilometers of here!"

"Someone has to work at the market," Harry points out. He grips the steering wheel tighter, imagines it's Louis' throat.

"I saw the owner through the window as you drove by," Louis says. "He was definitely _not_ alive."

"Then what is he? A zombie?"

"Yeah." Louis nods and sits back again, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard. "Probably going to follow us back and suck your brains out in the middle of the night. God, I could only get so lucky."

"I don't think zombies _suck_ brains out," Harry mutters, rolling his eyes as he heads back in the direction they just came from. "I think they just, like... take a bite."

"What, like hair and skull and all?" Louis asks. He scoffs and shakes his head. "No, I think they slip a straw up your nose and go for it like your head's one of them coconut things those posh celebrities drink. He's definitely coming for you first. Biggest nostrils. Biggest head. Easiest target."

"Not if you're in the tent with me," Harry points out. "I'll just zip my sleeping bag over my head and hope he takes you first."

He starts slowing down as the market comes back into sight, pulling off the road again and listening to the crunch of gravel beneath his tyres. He swings into one of the many empty parking spaces and shuts the car off. The owner is indeed visible through the windows, a sweet-looking, elderly man in a short-sleeved button-up, white hair circling the growing bald-spot at the top of his head. Not a zombie.

"Look at him," Louis whispers conspiratorially, lips pressed to the rim of his beer. "He's already plotting your murder."

Harry sighs and throws open the door. "He looks like my grandad. Like he could blow over if he sneezes too hard."

"That's what he wants you to think."

"And that's what I'm going to think," Harry nods. "Come on, we need to get four days worth of food. I can't believe all Niall packed was fucking marshmallows and beer _."_

Louis takes a final sip from his can and drops it in the cup holder.

"And you don't even like beer," he says.

Harry pauses, one hand on the edge of the door, the other tangled halfway through his hair. No, he doesn't like beer. He'll drink it if it's there, but he much prefers his other alcoholic beverages of choice. He remembers telling Louis all of that as they'd sat in Liam's bath tub, backs slipping down the cold walls, legs getting more and more intertwined as the night rolled on and a bottle of tequila passed back and forth between them.

"I think I'll live," he says, swallowing the memory along with its bitter aftertaste.

He heads for the entrance, boots crunching through the gravel beneath them, the sound of Louis following not too far behind. The not-zombie storekeeper greets them with a very non-threatening smile, corners of his pale eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. He points them in the direction of the sausages, shows them which aisle all of the canned foods are in, and by the time he finishes suggesting the perfect type of pasta to get - spaghetti, of course - Harry is about ready to adopt him.

"Thank you, sir," he says with a polite, little bow, basket hanging off the crook of his elbow.

"Yes, thank you very much," Louis agrees, and, as soon as they're out of earshot, he mutters, "watch your back, Styles, now he knows you're weak for old men."

Harry sighs for the thousandth time and pushes past him on the way to the tomato sauce.

"You're so annoying."

Louis sniggers. "Don't come crawling into my sleeping bag when you hear the tent rip open tonight."

"Trust me," Harry starts, grabbing a jar of sauce off the shelf and dropping it in his basket, "once we're zipped in that tent together, I won't be going anywhere near you."

"See, that's what you say now," Louis smirks. "Just wait until you see how little space there _really_ is under there. We're going to be _best pals."_

He drops another jar into Harry's basket and takes off down the aisle, hips swaying, arse looking far too nice in those flimsy football shorts. Harry takes a deep breath and tries not to tear all of his hair out in two giant fistfuls.

"Why are you like this?" he asks.

Louis doesn't even turn around, just keeps walking around the corner and onto the next aisle, his cold laugh echoing through the tiny market like a haunting cackle in the night.

"Oh, Styles," he says over the wall of shelves between them. "You fucking _know_ why."

\---

The rest of the shopping takes another twenty minutes, and by the time they're rolling down the country road again and into the camp grounds, Harry's certain he's lost at least three years off his life. Louis kicks his mud-crusted shoes up on the dashboard, and spends the first half of the ride fiddling with the hopeless radio, trying in vain to get something resembling a song out of the bloody thing.

"My ears are going to fall off if you don't stop," Harry snaps after a minute of static and only static.

Louis punches at his leg, and Harry slams on the brake, the entire car jolting for a second.

_"Louis,_ what the fuck?"

"Shut up, and learn how to fucking drive," Louis hisses. He sticks his ear right up against the shitty speakers. "I swear I just heard a bit of Katy Perry."

Harry sighs and stomps his foot on the gas. It throws Louis back in his seat, head smacking hard against the headrest.

"We are _not_ listening to Katy Perry."

"Maybe your antenna's busted," Louis suggests. He rubs the back of his head, frowning.

"It's not."

"It could be."

"Louis, just turn the radio off before my soul shrivels up and dies."

Louis jabs his finger into the CD button instead, and Harry's soul nearly gives itself over to the Grim Reaper anyway as the Spice Girls' _Wannabe_ start blaring as loudly as possible from all four corners of his car.

He chances a glance at Louis and finds him staring at the center console, eyes wide, mouth twisted up in the worst sort of smirk. Harry turns the volume almost all the way down. He _knew_ that CD was in there. He could have easily prevented this.

"Don't say anything," he mutters.

"Did I look like I was going to?" Louis snorts.

"Don't _fucking_ say anything," Harry reiterates, completely mortified.

They drive in near silence for another few minutes, the Spice Girls playing quietly in the background, the color in Harry's cheeks rising as the songs go on and suddenly they're listening to _2 Become 1_. He tries not to pay attention as the lyrics sits heavily in the two feet of space between him and Louis, tries not to think about the implications, about wanting to make love to anybody at all, particularly the only other person in the car. Louis downs the rest of his beer and _doesn't say anything_ , lets his empty can rattle around the cup holder once he's finished.

Finally, _finally,_ they find their campsite and pull off the side of the road. Harry cuts the engine without a word, his eyes landing on Liam as he brings the axe swinging through the air and connects the blade with a block of wood. Niall's tending to the fire, poking tiny scraps of kindling into the center of a golden blaze and shifting the logs about. It all looks proper camp-y.

"Spice Girls, eh?" Louis says as he pops the CD out of the player and throws it into the glove box.

Harry rolls his eyes. "You have your food. Please get out of my car."

He doesn't even bother unbuckling his seatbelt until Louis obeys and lets the door bump shut behind him. Slowly, muscles starting to ache and his own stomach growling, he eventually follows suit. He digs through the groceries until he finds the bag of crisps he'd thrown in, then he grabs his own beer and heads straight through the campsite, past the roaring fire, past Liam and his woodchopping, only one destination in mind.

_Solitude_ , he thinks as he trudges down the path to the lake. With the sun starting to grow closer and closer to the horizon and a day's worth of driving and dealing with Louis behind him, he just needs a moment alone, to clear his head, to just relax.

The gorgeous body of water stretches out in tiny, pulsing waves before him. All along the narrow shore, campers have their canoes tied up, their brightly colored kayaks turned upside-down, fishing poles hanging off the ends of their docks. Harry walks out to the end of theirs, a long, narrow, rickety old thing, and sits down to admire the view.

He cracks open his beer and takes a long pull from it, thirsty for something cool, something refreshing, even if he doesn't particularly enjoy the taste. God knows they have plenty of it to spare so he might as well drink up. That's what they're supposed to do, right? Before they go back to Manchester, before Niall starts his internship, before Liam moves in with his girlfriend and Harry starts pretending that the rest of his life doesn't seem endless and completely daunting, they're supposed to leave their uni years behind them with a flood of alcohol and a bro-trip to the woods.

He just never expected to have Louis thrown into it all. He doesn't even know what Louis' been doing these past few years. Sure, he's seen him at other parties, gone to the pub with him a few unfortunate times, but after Louis had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested and was never going to call, Harry has been too embarrassed to try to keep up with him. For all he knows, Louis could be moving to Australia in a week for an extensive marine biology expedition. He doubts it, but it still wouldn't surprise him.

Licking up the last drops of beer from the can, he wipes his greasy, salt-covered fingers on his shorts, ears perking up as crackling footsteps sound out behind him.

"Hungry?" Liam asks, stepping out from the woods and onto the sandy shore. "We're cooking up some of those sausages you bought with Lou. Don't tell him, but I'm pretty sure you were right."

"About what?" Harry asks.

"We were supposed to bring the food," Liam admits with a sheepish shrug. "You and Niall were bringing the beer and the grill. Everything else was on us."

Harry _knew_ it. And Louis had the audacity to blame it on him, to force him back to the market, to steal his wallet and pay for it all with Harry's own, hard-earned cash.

"Can you maybe tell Louis?" he asks, pushing off the dock and crinkling his empty crisp bag in his fist. "Maybe he'll hate me less if we have a shared enemy."

"First of all," Liam starts as they walk back to the fire, "I'm not letting you make me the enemy."

"Why not?" Harry pouts.

"Because we're in the middle of nowhere and our nearest neighbor is three campsites over. I don't even want to imagine the shit you and Louis would pull if you two joined forces."

Liam holds a low branch out of Harry's way, but Harry ducks all the same, no longer trusting him.

"And second of all?" he asks, breaking out of the trees and into their clearing. The fire's roaring now, four chairs propped open around it, Louis already in one of them, roasting his sausage over the flames.

"Second of all," Liam says. "He doesn't hate you. He's never hated you and I'm not sure where you ever got that idea from, but believe me, I've heard enough from him to know he doesn't hate you."

Harry sighs and nods.

"I think you're a liar," he says. "But I'm too hungry to argue right now."

He gives Liam's cheek a quick pat and goes to spear a sausage for himself, taking a plate and another beer with him. With three empty seats by the fire, he doesn't know why he chooses the chair next to Louis, but some invisible pull in his gut has him dragging the seat closer to the flames, closer to trouble.

"Hi," he says, kicking his trainers off and mirroring Louis' cross-legged position.

Louis tilts his head just slightly, enough to glance at him. "You enjoy your fifteen minutes by the lake?"

Harry nods. "I enjoyed my fifteen minutes of silence, yes."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Louis asks. "Do you have a problem with the sound of my voice?"

"Not at all." Harry laughs quietly, eyes fixed on the flames as they dance around his soon-to-be dinner. He shakes his head. "Your voice is great. I love listening to you berate me."

"I figured as much," Louis notes.

He pulls his roasting stick from the fire and holds his sausage up in front of his face to inspect the thing, staring down the end of his nose and humming softly to himself in satisfaction. He then swings his stick in front of Harry's face, nearly smacking him between the eyes and almost causing him to tip backwards out of his chair.

"Louis- What-?"

"Does it look alright?" Louis asks. "I've never done this camping thing before. How do I know if it's cooked all the way through?"

Harry reaches for the far end of Louis' stick and moves the sausage back over the fire.

"Give it another minute on this side," he suggests, their hands bumping as he goes to pull away. "Um. You want it to be a little darker. Crispy looking."

"Well-done sausage. Got it." Louis nods.

Harry makes a little noise of agreement, and then it's just the two of them sitting there in silence again, listening to the crackling of the flames as they snap and burn through the wood. One glance over his shoulder tells Harry that Niall and Liam won't be around for a while, the two of them bent over the grill, trying to get the coals hot enough to cook their sausages the less traditional way. Half of him wants to shout back and tell them to just cook over the fire like normal people would, but half of him, a really confusing half, hopes they take their time.

"Reckon it's ready now?" Louis asks as he checks his progress again.

"Probably," Harry shrugs. "Just be careful. Don't burn your mouth."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Yeah, thanks for that. Probably would have just stuck my entire tongue in the fire if you hadn't told me."

Harry tries not to kick Louis' sausage halfway into the woods. "How are you always so obnoxious?"

"It's only for you, love."

He clinks his beer can against Harry's while it sits in his cup holder, and chugs about half of it in one go. Harry doesn't know how much Louis' had to drink or if he's even feeling a buzz at all. He just knows he's going to have to keep up if he wants to keep them on the same level, balance the playing field between them for the night. With his roasting stick held steady between his knees, he pops open his new drink, holds it up in a silent toast to the boy next to him, and lets the bitter liquid slide straight down the back of his throat. Louis' bemused eyes watch him the entire time.

"So much for not liking beer," he comments, a small smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

Harry grins, warmth growing in his belly. He can't tell whether it's from the open flames before him, from the alcohol, or from the same thing that had him crawling across the bath tub three years ago to slip his tongue past Louis' lips.

He turns his sausage over above the fire and chuckles softly. "It's only for you, love."

\---

By the time the sun has fully set and the stars have all come out to twinkle above their heads, everyone's rather tipsy. Not drunk - nobody wants to go too crazy on their first night out in the woods. They don't need four hangovers for whatever Niall and Liam have planned for the morning. But as the night grows darker, their chairs grow closer around the fire, armrests touching, laughter bubbling out between them, Harry tugging his sleeves past his fingers to stay warm.

He keeps eyeing Louis' fleece blanket, the one he'd pulled from their tent as soon as the temperature had started to drop. It would be nice to share, but only if Louis would offer.

"Are you getting cold?" Louis actually asks as Liam launches into a story about the time he and Niall tried to sneak a puppy into their freshman housing.

Harry pulls at the drawstrings of his hoodie, narrowing the opening around his face. "A bit," he nods. "Don't want to leave the fire to put on more clothes, though."

"Such a baby," Louis sighs. He catches Harry staring longingly at his blanket. "If you think I'm sharing this with you, you've lost your mind."

"I'm letting you share my tent," Harry argues, keeping his voice down.

"Because I'd die otherwise," Louis hisses.

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"It does if you think about all the bears and wolves and tigers and vampires and-"

"You're unbelievable," Harry mutters, shaking his head. "You're sleeping with Liam tonight."

"I told you his tent is ready to collapse."

Harry glances back at Liam's perfectly constructed masterpiece of a tent and rolls his eyes harder than he ever thought he could.

"It's not going anywhere," he whispers. "And you're not coming anywhere near me."

"Fuck yes, I am."

"No. You're not."

"Harold."

_"Lewis."_

"Christ, will you two shut up?" Niall snaps. He shifts in his chair so he can glare at them, the light flickering in his blue eyes and making them look a bit demonic. "We're sitting here, getting nostalgic about our long-gone days as youthful uni kids, and here you two are, bickering like five year olds."

"Your uni days aren't long gone," Louis tries to correct him. "They were literally just yesterday."

"And your youth isn't gone either," Harry offers, hugging his knees to his chest to keep his legs warm. "You still look like a baby. A demon baby."

"Straight out of the womb," Louis adds.

"And we weren't even there for the puppy incident," Harry argues.

"That was just you and Liam," Louis tells Niall. "Try reminiscing about something we all can remember. Or at least three of us. It's okay if Harry wasn't there."

"Hey-" Harry starts, but Louis elbows him hard in the forearm. Harry clutches at the tender spot, his sleeve still pulled past the tips of his fingers, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to prevent all of the swear words in the dictionary from tumbling out of his mouth. "Fuck," he lets slip anyway. "Fuck you, Louis."

Louis flips him off with a devilish, little grin, tugs his blanket back over his shoulders to further rub salt in Harry's wounds.

"Remember that huge snow storm?" Liam asks, ignoring the both of them. "The night of my party? Remember how no one could leave because the roads were so bad, so it was like one giant, drunken sleepover?"

Harry blinks at the flames, refuses to look anywhere else. Yes, he remembers. He's pretty sure half the population of their university remembers that night whether they were in attendance or not. He's pretty sure the awful boy beside him remembers that night.

"Legendary," Niall says, slouching further into his chair. "You had about eight people trying to sleep in your bed. At least two in your closet. I tried to grab a glass of water halfway through the night and I was stepping over bodies the entire way to the fridge."

"I just remember waking up with my face covered in glitter," Liam laughs. "God, that was a good night."

"Where'd you sleep?" Niall asks.

Liam pauses a moment to remember, brows furrowing as he wracks his brain. "Under the kitchen table, I think."

"I took up a corner in your living room," Niall says.

They both turn to face Harry. Harry feels his heart slam itself against his ribcage, forcing him to actually choke on a bit of his own spit. He coughs into his elbow and tries to clear his throat, and when he picks his head up again, Louis is staring back at him as well.

"I, um. I'm not sure I remember where I slept," he lies. Somehow, it feels like the worst lie he's ever told.

Louis furrows both eyebrows at him, exhales an annoyed huff of breath as he shakes his head just the slightest bit.

"Better than sharing the bathtub with a complete wanker," he says.

It's harsh. The words puncture Harry's skin like little barbs and bee stings.

"You slept in my bath?" Liam says with a disbelieving laugh.

"Stole a spare blanket from your closet and everything," Louis nods. "The lad I was with turned out to be a bit of a prick, but other than that, I had a good night."

He doesn't take his eyes off Harry the entire time he speaks, and Harry keeps his mouth sealed shut, jaw locked tight as he swallows the lump in his throat. He hadn't been drunk enough to forget anything that night. If he can't remember acting like a tosser or being anything but the flirty, handsy, chatty mess he'd thought he'd been, then Louis is lying, too.

"Did you sleep with him?" Niall asks.

Louis snorts and finally ducks his head, eyes dropping to the last of the burning logs.

"No," he says. "I mean, I was _asleep_ with him for maybe an hour or two, but all we did was kiss."

"Then he can't have been too awful," Liam tries to bargain.

Louis glances back at Harry for such a split second that Harry almost misses it. There's a tiny smile teasing at the corner of Louis' mouth. Whether it's genuine or malicious, Harry can't tell, but he honestly wouldn't be surprised if Louis were to sprout little devil horns sometime over the next few days.

"No," Louis says again, this time not looking at anyone. "Believe me, he was an arse."

He shifts in his chair, tugs the blanket higher up his shoulders, and doesn't elaborate any further. He's definitely lying now. Looking back on that night, Harry had had nothing but a good time. He'd latched onto Louis the moment they'd started flirting around each other in Liam's kitchen. He'd danced with him in the middle of the crowd of guests, followed him outside while Louis had a quick smoke in the flurry of snow, set claim to their hide-out in the bathtub as soon as they'd realized everyone would be staying the night, spent the next three hours spewing his heart out to him in the dark, then kissed him, even asked if he could do it, and never _once_ had he been an arse.

He sinks a bit, his heart, his self-confidence, even his physical body trying to fall through his chair. No one's ever called him an arse, a prick, a wanker, and actually _meant_ it. He'd thought they'd really connected that night. He'd given Louis his number with the hopes that Louis had felt it too. Apparently not.

"Well," he says quietly, untucking his feet and holding onto his arm rests. He can already feel the heat on his face, and it's not just from the fire. "You might not have enjoyed that night," he says, not daring to look at Louis, "but I had a really nice time."

Hands shaking slightly, body a bit off balance from the alcohol, he pushes himself up and tucks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"I'm going to sleep," he mumbles. "I'll see you all in the morning."

"Night, H," Liam says.

"Sleep well," Niall adds.

Louis doesn't say anything.

Harry shuffles over to his tent, shivering a bit in the cold. He finds his torch sitting in front of the entrance and uses it to light a path deep enough into the surrounding woods for him to take a piss in peace and quiet.

When he gets back to his tent, he crawls through the flap and shucks everything but his briefs into a crumpled pile in the corner. He'll sort his clothes out in the morning when the sun's back up. He's drunk too much and listened to too much of Louis' bullshit to deal with anything else for the moment. For now, all he wants is a good night's sleep.

He just about gets settled in his sleeping bag, zipper pulled up, eyes falling shut, when the tent flap opens again and the light of Louis' torch nearly blinds him.

"I'm going to fucking scream," he mutters.

"Shut up and move over," Louis grumbles, trying to squeeze inside without simply falling on top of him. It doesn't work. Somehow, even with a light on, Louis manages to land a knee on Harry's calf. He slips over the sleeping bag, Harry hissing into his pillow at the sharp pain, and before Harry knows it, Louis ends up loosing his balance, his knee sliding between his legs, forearm digging into the backs of his thighs, something that feels heavy enough to be Louis' _head_ face-planting into his butt.

Harry grunts.

"Wow," Louis mutters, coughing to clear his throat as he sits up. "That is... a lot firmer than I thought it would be."

Harry's lucky Louis' torch is pointing the other way. He can't stop the blush from creeping over his face.

"Should I take that as a compliment?" he asks, voice a little higher than usual. Louis' knee is still between his legs.

Louis coughs again. "Yes," he decides. "Yes, definitely a compliment."

"Okay," Harry says. "Great. Now get off of me."

Louis does, shifting into the space beside him before giving him an abrupt shove to the wall of the narrow tent. Harry has never disliked someone so much in his life.

"There's no room for me," Louis groans. "How am I supposed to sleep in here with you?"

"I _told_ you," Harry sighs. He closes his eyes and buries his face further into his pillow. Louis can figure everything out without him.

"I suppose it is bigger than Liam's bath," Louis concedes quietly as he unrolls his sleeping bag beside Harry's. "And that wasn't so bad."

"Sleep-wise or company-wise?" Harry mumbles.

Louis turns his torch light out and Harry hears the shift of fabric as he undresses, hears him slip into his sleeping bag and zip himself in.

It's a long while before he answers, so long that Harry almost assumes he isn't going to answer at all. And then, in the pitch black, sleeping bags touching, barely a foot of space between their bodies, Louis sighs and rolls over, facing away from Harry.

"Both," he says quietly. "They were both good."

Harry doesn't respond. He just lets out his own sigh, heart twisting a bit in his chest while he waits for sleep to overtake him.

\---

It's just before sunrise when he begins to wake up. It starts with a nudge to his shoulder, a gentle shake, someone covering his mouth with their hand. Only... that's not a hand. Those are lips, soft and insistent, moving against his own and stealing his breath away before his eyes even have the chance to open. He kisses back slowly, tastes familiarity, remembers kissing those same lips like this before.

He isn't waking up. He's being _woken_ up.

The lips pull away from his own and he inhales, breath catching as a warm weight settles over his lap, right at the tops of his thighs.

He blinks his eyes open in the grey morning light to find his sleeping bag unzipped and Louis seated on top of him. He's wearing nothing but a tight pair of red briefs and Harry can't help but stare at the visible bulge beneath the fabric. He's thoroughly confused.

"Thought I'd call a truce," Louis tells him with a smirk. He shifts a bit, hands smoothing over Harry's sides.

Harry tries to clear his throat, finds he's having trouble breathing.

"A truce?" he rasps, lifting an eyebrow. "Bit presumptuous for a truce."

Louis leans forward, stomach brushing over Harry's quickly hardening length. He runs his hands up Harry's skin, sending goosebumps all across his chest. He teases at Harry's nipples and elicits the softest moan from him. He looks like he might kiss Harry again, and Harry wants that. He really wants to kiss Louis again. He wants Louis' mouth all over him, warm, practiced, sending pleasure up and down his spine.

"If you think it's presumptuous," Louis murmurs as he dips his head to place a kiss over Harry's butterfly tattoo, "then your body is thinking otherwise."

"Why now?" Harry asks.

Louis shrugs, shifts his hips, grinds against him. "Why not?" is his response.

"You feel that bad about last night?"

Louis pauses, a breath away from taking Harry's peaked nipple into his mouth.

"What was last night?" he asks.

"Oh, just you repeatedly calling me an arse," Harry reminds him.

Louis sits up again, confusion furrowing his brow, the corners of his mouth turned down. He's settled directly over Harry's cock, and every time he moves, Harry has to bite his tongue to keep from groaning too loud.

"Why would I call you an arse?" Louis asks as if unaware of where his own bum is seated.

"Shouldn't you know?" Harry tries.

"I mean, you have a _nice_ arse," Louis shrugs, "but I wouldn't go so far as to call you one."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asks, confusion growing in him. Had he imagined the entire conversation by the campfire? He doesn't think he'd had that much to drink.

Louis blinks at him again, crease growing between his brows. He looks like a mildly pissed-off sex-fiend. "What are _you_ talking about?"

Harry huffs and tries to push him off, but Louis keeps his shoulders pinned down. "This isn't funny," Harry says.

"I'm not trying to be funny," Louis argues. His digs his thumbs into Harry's collar bones and gives him a small shake.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks.

"Trying to wake you up."

_"What?"_

Louis gives a frustrated sigh, grits his teeth and gives Harry another, more violent shake. "Fucking hell, Styles."

Harry has absolutely no idea what is happening. It's one thing to wake up with a mostly-naked Louis Tomlinson crawling onto his lap and shoving his tongue down his throat. It's another to have him pretending the night before never happened, trying to shake him half to death, all the while grinding his arse back against his cock and getting him wound up.

"You're unbelievable," Louis says, shaking his head one last time before leaning in and kissing Harry again.

This time, Louis' lips stay sealed where they're pressed to his. This time, Louis doesn't pry his mouth open and lick inside, doesn't smooth his tongue over Harry's bottom lip or try to coax a reaction out of him. Louis doesn't kiss him like he's supposed to, like Harry wants him to, doesn't even let him pull away for a breath. It's almost like he's sucking the air out of Harry's lungs, like he's putting pressure on his airways and forcing everything out of him, and Harry can't breathe, he can't move, he can't-

He opens his eyes.

It's darker in the tent, not quite dawn, but still light enough to see the outline of Louis Tomlinson hovering over him with a pillow in his hands. Except he's not straddling Harry's waist. He's in his own sleeping bag. And Harry's is still zipped up to his chin. And it feels like he's just been strangled in his own sleep.

"Fucking _finally,"_ Louis mutters, his voice somehow scratchier.

Harry clears his throat, lifts a hand to massage his windpipe. His heart is racing. "Were you just...?"

"Trying to smother you in your sleep?" Louis finishes for him. "Yeah, that was me. You've been snoring like a bloody freight train for the past ten minutes. What happened to those cute, snuffly snores we talked about?"

He whacks Harry in the face again with his pillow before settling back down beside him.

"Sorry," Harry murmurs, rolling onto his side to face him. Christ, he's hard as a rock.

"No more snoring," Louis says.

"I'll try my best."

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"Your face," Louis clarifies. "You look a bit... off."

Harry pulls his palm away from his groin, tries to think of everything disgusting in the world to get his situation under control. Dead fish, soggy toast, fur balls, horse shit.

It doesn't work.

"Stop looking at my face," he says, sinking further into his sleeping bag.

"I'm trying, but you're right there and your head's so big."

"I'm going back to sleep," Harry mutters and flips onto his other side with another huff.

He can feel Louis' eyes on the back of his head as he adjusts his cock so it's sitting more comfortably against his stomach. He flexes his toes, takes a deep breath, tries to relax as much as he can and not let his mind wander over to his bizarre sex dream. He can't believe he'd thought Louis would actually kiss him. He can't believe he'd thought Louis would climb in his lap and get off against him, pull his nipple into his mouth and-

"If you so much as _think_ about polishing off that stiffy while I'm in here, I promise you your body will be sitting at the bottom of the lake by the time the next sun rises."

Harry immediately tucks his hands beneath his pillow, heat prickling every inch of his face and neck.

"It's your own bloody fault," he mumbles.

Louis releases an amused breath. "Not sure how you figure that."

"Please stop talking."

"If you're trying to flatter me, it's not working."

Harry doesn't respond. He buries his face in his pillow and imagines he's back home in his nice, _private_ bed without the threat of Louis Tomlinson lurking quite literally behind him. The day hasn't even begun yet. He has at least two more hours of sleep to steal and he's not going to survive whatever Niall has planned for them if he lets Louis get the best of him before the sun has even poked its rays over the top of the tree line.

He takes another deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and prays for sleep to take him again.

\---

He's the last to wake up when the time comes. The sleeping bag next to him is empty. He can hear murmured voices outside his tent, the light breeze rustling the leaves above him, the sound of a fresh fire crackling to fight off the morning chill. Harry stretches, throws his hoodie back on, and slips outside to join the rest of the lads.

All three of them are there, but only Niall's tent is left standing.

"Morning, sunshine," Louis greets him with an amused smile from where he's curled up in his chair, sipping tea by the fire.

Harry shuffles over to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What happened to Liam's tent?"

"It fell over," Louis shrugs. "Just as I'd suspected it would."

"You're sure you didn't sabotage it?"

"Who? _Me?"_ Louis asks. He even has the audacity to look offended.

"Yes, you," Harry says, poking him in the shoulder as he goes to reclaim the seat next to him. He pulls his feet up, bare legs already covered with goosebumps. The fire helps. A little.

"I couldn't tell you how Liam managed to fuck that one up," Louis promises. "I just know he did and now he's begging Niall to try and sort it out. Cute pants by the way. Are those tiny frogs?"

Harry glances down at the short stretch of material visible at the tops of his thighs and shakes his head. "Turtles," he murmurs. "Mum bought them for me last Christmas."

"Cute," Louis says again.

Harry wishes he would stop. He picks his head up to roll his eyes, not even bothering to hide his blush. It's too early for this. It's too early to have tosspots like Louis trying to flirt with him, getting in his head, making him feel like a useless puddle of _mush._

"Have you two finished flirting yet?"

Harry twists his neck around to spot Niall approaching with two steaming mugs in his hands.

"We're not flirting," Harry insists, reaching out for one. "At least I'm not flirting with _him_. I'm not really the type to lead someone on."

Louis scoffs and pulls a face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asks.

"Nothing," Louis sighs as he pushes out of his chair and adjusts his trackies. "You're just a bit full of yourself sometimes."

He doesn't give Harry a chance to reply before he shuffles away, shoes kicking up dirt, mug tipping over to pour the last remaining drops of his tea along the path beside him.

Harry lets out his own weighted breath, Niall watching him with one of those calculating looks that always means trouble. He doesn't need a lecture. He doesn't need advice. He doesn't need Niall prying into past business that he has no business prying into because, well... it's in the past _._

"What?" Harry mutters pointedly.

"Drink your tea," Niall says. "And try to play nice today."

Harry's pretty sure he _has_ been playing nice, that it's Louis who keeps dropping the passive aggressive comments that don't make any sense, calling him names, teasing him half to death, but yes. If Niall asks it of him, he will indeed keep trying to play nice.

\---

"Hang on- Wait- Paddle hard on the left- No, the other left- No- Niall. _Niall_."

Harry pulls his oar from the water and gives Niall a poke in the back with it, holding the end against his neck and letting little drops of lake water drip down the back of his life-vest. Niall's shoulders shoot up to his ears. He drops his oar back in the canoe and twists around to glare at Harry, the entire boat rocking, tipping precariously sideways.

"You're supposed to be steering this thing," Niall tells him, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. His face is starting to turn pink in the sunshine. Harry sets his own oar down and digs through the bag between his feet for the sun cream.

"I can't steer if you don't at least _try_ to get us in the right direction," he sighs. He pulls a headband from the bottom of his bag and slips it over his hair, one last attempt at keeping the curly fly-aways out of his face. He passes Niall the sun cream. "Your nose is getting burnt."

"Cheers," Niall says just as Liam comes floating over to them in his kayak.

"Having trouble?" he asks.

He still looks a bit guilty about taking the smaller of the watercrafts, his bright yellow kayak much more maneuverable compared to Harry and Niall's heavy, hollow boat. At least he manages to look guiltier than Louis. Louis hadn't even entertained the idea of giving up his own kayak once he'd claimed it along the shores of the lake. Which is fine. Canoeing requires teamwork, cooperation, coordination - all things Louis seems to lack.

But Harry doesn't blame him. He also doesn't mind being stuck in a boat with Niall. Niall might not know how to paddle, but he's not going to threaten to drown him for their pitiful attempts at crossing the lake.

"We'll get it eventually," Harry assures Liam. "Just need a bit of practice."

"Louis and I can always tow you along if need be," Liam says with a wink.

"Speak for yourself," Louis chimes in, coming up behind Liam.

Liam has all of a two second warning before Louis collides with him, jostling both of their kayaks. Louis reaches out for Harry and Niall's canoe to steady himself, pulling up right alongside them and bumping Liam out of the way.

"Oi, watch it," Liam grumbles.

Louis ignores him. "Hi," he says, peering up at Harry with a child-like grin on his face.

All it took was a boat and the freedom of some open water.

"Can I help you?" Harry asks.

"No," Louis shrugs. "Just wanted to let you know there's a slug crawling up the back of your life vest. Also, please stop staring at me. You're being a creep."

"I'm not-" Harry starts, then immediately seizes as a hot flash of panic rolls down his spine. "A slug?" he asks, sitting up straighter.

Louis nods, still grinning up at him.

It must be a record, the speed at which Harry slips his arms from his vest and flings the thing out into the water. He doesn't even try to keep his cool. There's no one to impress out in the middle of no where, there's no reason to be embarrassed about the strangled noise he emits, there's no need to grab Louis' hand off the side of his canoe and clutch it like a lifeline. And yet, here he is - suddenly self-conscious, mortified, and holding Louis' hand in his own.

He feels a bit ill. Oh god. He's so stupid.

"Why did I do that?" he exhales.

Louis just laughs at him, barks out this cackling sound and lets Harry hold his hand while he doubles over and covers his mouth with the back of his other hand. It's a poor attempt at concealing his giggles, but Harry lets him have it. He gives Louis' fingers a squeeze, heart racing, his own smile threatening to burst across his face.

"What the fuck is going on back there?" Niall calls over his shoulder.

Louis shakes his head, crinkles forming around his eyes. "Nothing, Nialler," he answers, and then to Harry, "Go get your vest, you giant loser."

"You're lucky it floats."

"I'm not the one who threw it away!"

Harry sighs, but he's still helplessly endeared. He drops Louis' fingers, sad to feel them go, and lifts his paddle instead. "Come on, Niall. Before it gets too far."

They manage to direct the canoe through the water and scoop the vest from the rippling waves. Harry cringes when he sees the slug still stuck to the back, a nasty shade of green, holding on for its dear life. He swings the vest out over the lake and uses the end of his paddle to push the slimy thing off, the sound of Louis' laughter meeting his ears from somewhere behind, warmer and brighter than the sun shining down upon them and making Harry want to hold his head underwater for about five hours until he stops thinking about it.

It's no surprise he let himself fall for Louis after only spending a few hours at a party with him three years ago. Despite all of his resistance, he can already feel it happening all over again. Which is just shit, isn't it? Beautiful boys shouldn't be allowed to flirt if they don't intend to take it anywhere. They shouldn't be allowed to be good kissers either. Or appear in sex dreams. Or laugh like that. Christ, Harry needs help.

Once they've gotten over the slug incident, they spend the entirety of the afternoon on the lake. It only takes a few more tries for Niall and Harry to get a firm handle on their canoeing abilities, and then it's smooth sailing for everyone. They paddle the full stretch of water twice before lunch time, racing between landmarks, taking pictures with a family of ducks. Liam and Louis get involved in a splash competition which nearly ends in Louis flipping his kayak, but luckily - or perhaps unluckily - he manages to stay out of the water long enough to reach dry land.

For lunch, they pull up to the little island in the middle of the lake and drag their boats ashore. Harry passes around the cheese and pickle sandwiches he'd packed for everyone, and they all stretch out on the rocks for a breather.

"I can't feel my arms," Louis is the first to complain.

"You know," Liam starts, "I've invited you to the gym every week for the past year. There _is_ a way to fix that."

"What would be the point in that?" Louis asks. "When is the next time I'm going to have to use my arms this much?"

Liam shrugs. "When you move to London next week?"

"And after that?"

When no one has a decent enough response, Harry swallows his bite of sandwich and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You're moving to London?" he asks.

Louis nods, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose. He stretches back on his rock. "In a few days, yeah. I've got a six-month internship lined up with this production crew. Should be a good time."

"Oh," Harry says, surprised. "What type of production?"

"Film," Louis answers.

Harry wishes he could see his eyes through his sunnies. He has a feeling Louis' staring back at him like he should already know these things. But Harry doesn't. He barely knows anything about Louis.

"So, you're not going on a marine biology expedition off the coast of Australia, then," he confirms.

Louis snorts. "Why would you even think that?"

"Just checking."

"Harry's moving to London in a few weeks, too," Niall offers from their other side. "Going to work for Radio 1."

If Louis is surprised or impressed or even remotely interested in that tidbit of information, he doesn't let anyone know.

"Cool," is all he says before he goes back to eating his lunch.

Harry sighs to himself and scrambles off the rock to deposit his rubbish back in the canoe. He doesn't know why he cares about Louis' opinion as much as he does, but it's the truth. He's cared for years, enough to avoid Louis whenever possible, enough for Louis to ruin what should have been fun nights out with his mates. Whatever. There's nothing he can do about it.

He grabs his bag and climbs up to the flattest, highest rock lining the tiny island's shore, and spreads his towel across it. Before he lies down for a kip under the sun, he rolls the bottoms of his swim trunks up his thighs and tugs his t-shirt over his head. He hears a wolf whistle from down below, and when he turns, expecting it to be Louis taking the piss out of him again, he sees it's just Liam this time. Once again, he doesn't know why he's disappointed. He doesn't know why he even cares.

He stretches out over his towel, the rock hard beneath his shoulders, and closes his eyes to the sun above him.

\---

"Get up, Styles, or I'm leaving without you."

Something heavy clatters to the ground next to Harry's head. He slowly cracks an eye open to find Louis standing over him, silhouetted against the sky, clad only in a pair of navy football shorts that sit far too low on his hips.

Harry rolls his head to the side and spots his paddle lying next to him. He shifts his eyes down to the lake and sees only the canoe left on the shore. They're alone.

"Niall and Liam went back?"

"They're still fucking around somewhere out there," Louis shrugs and scratches absently at his bare hip. Harry can't help but stare at the stretch of golden skin, the tight pull of his stomach, the thin line of hair dusting just below his navel. He just wants to put his mouth all over Louis, make him feel good, touch him, taste him, get him to stop being such a tosspot.

He licks his lips and forces himself to look away as he sits up.

"How long was I out for?" he asks, reaching for his bag, his towel, his shirt, his paddle.

"An hour?" Louis guesses, giving him a hand up. "I might have dozed off as well. Woke up to Niall stealing my kayak."

"Did you want to float around some more?" Harry asks.

"Not really," Louis says. "Let's just go back to the campsite. I'm not sure I want to be stuck out on the water with you for too long."

Harry's jaw tightens. He shakes his head. "Always so charming."

"I never said I was trying to be," Louis answers as he pushes the canoe off the edge of the island and climbs into the back. "You're up front this time. Don't need you staring at me bum the entire way back."

Which only serves to make Harry self conscious about the view of his own backside. He slips his t-shirt back on and readjusts his swim trunks before settling into the front seat and giving them a good shove away from the shore.

"So..." Louis starts as soon as they find a good paddling rhythm. "London?"

"What about it?" Harry asks. He really hates that he can't turn around.

"It's a big move," Louis says. "Are you excited? Nervous?"

Harry shrugs. "A bit nervous, yeah. It'll be nice to live in a new city, but other than my sister, I won't know anyone down there."

"You'll know me."

Harry can't help the breathy laugh that spills from his chest. "Sure," he allows, "but you kind of hate me. I don't reckon you'll be calling me up, inviting me for tea any time soon. You'll have your own mates, your own life, and I'll have mine."

It's the way it's been all through uni. Four days of camping isn't going to bring a miracle.

"I guess," Louis says quietly behind him. "But if you ever want to, like, I don't know..."

"See a familiar face?" Harry tries. "Get another good roasting?"

"I was going to say hang out," Louis corrects with a huff. "If you're ever looking for some company, you can always give me a call. You, um. You should probably have my number already."

Harry frowns. "Yeah. Maybe."

He's about three hundred percent sure Louis Tomlinson's number is nowhere in his contacts, nor has it ever been. If it were, he would have called Louis three years ago and asked him out on that date they'd both promised instead of waiting helplessly for his own phone to go off.

Louis doesn't comment on it, and Harry isn't foolish enough to argue with him while they're out on the water and he's got his back to him.

They row in relative silence until they reach their dock along the lakeshore. Harry hops out first to drag the canoe onto their mini beach, leaving his life vest and paddle at the bottom for when they return everything the following morning. Louis falls into step beside him as they makes their way through the trees and back to their campsite.

"Do you know anything about starting a campfire?" Harry asks.

"Not really," Louis answers.

"Want to try building one with me?"

Louis holds the low branch out of their way and manages to refrain from snapping it in Harry's face.

"Sure," he says. "But you're chopping the wood."

\---

The fire is just starting to catch when Niall and Liam return from the lake. Harry's knees are starting to hurt from squatting in front of the pit. Louis keeps trying to push him out of the way. It's a bit of a disaster if either of them had to call it anything, but there are four empty beer cans on the ground behind them, and Harry can feel a heat growing in him from the inside out.

"More twigs," Louis suggests, barely glancing up when they hear the approaching footsteps.

"What are more twigs going to do?" Harry laughs quietly. "The entire core is made up of twigs."

"I don't know," Louis says and grabs a handful of the sticks they've been snapping for no reason other than to keep busy. "I just think we should use them if we've got them."

"That's a stupid idea," Harry decides, but he lets Louis poke them into the tiny fire they've managed to start anyway. "I think we need to blow on it."

"I'm not putting my face anywhere near the fire," Louis argues. "You blow on it."

"What if I just wave my hands in front of it?"

"Give it a try."

"What if I blow it out?"

"Don't," Louis warns. "Try to like, be gentle."

Harry doesn't trust himself enough for that. He crumples up another page from the newspaper they found in the back of Liam's car and pushes it into the flames.

"Perfect," he declares.

It's far from it, but that doesn't stop Louis from laughing softly in agreement and pushing Harry to sit back with him on the giant blanket they've spread out in place of the chairs.

"It'll be roaring in no time," he promises just as Liam comes up behind them, worn and weary from his and Niall's extended adventures.

"Where am I supposed to sit?" he asks, staring down at the blanket.

Louis pats the space beside him and scoots closer to Harry, close enough that Harry can feel the hairs on his arm brush against his own skin.

"Right here," Louis says. "Come have a cuddle."

"Aw, he _does_ have a heart," Liam coos. He drops down onto the blanket and leans against Louis' side, wrapping an arm around him. "I almost forgot you knew how to be nice."

"I can be nice," Louis argues. "I'm nice all the time."

"Just not when Harry's involved?"

Harry twists his head a bit to gauge Louis' reaction, but there is none. There never is. He's like a steel-faced robot when it comes to things Harry's most curious about.

"I'm nice to him in bits and pieces," Louis replies. "For one, I didn't drown him today."

"Not _yet,"_ Harry comments.

"True."

"You also didn't leave him stranded on that island," Liam reminds them.

"I didn't," Louis agrees. "So that's two times I've been nice to you today, Styles. Once more and I think I'll get my wings."

"Keep dreaming," Harry laughs and lifts a hand to scratch at the top of Louis' head. "I can already feel those devil horns poking through your thick skull."

Louis butts his hand away and playfully pushes him down against the blanket. "If I were truly the devil, you'd think I'd be able to start a better fire than this."

"Yeah, you'd think," Harry snorts. "Maybe you just suck at being the devil."

"Maybe you just suck at building fires."

"I can't tell whether you're arguing or flirting anymore," Liam interrupts. He pulls his arm away from Louis and leans back on his hands to study the two of them with narrowed eyes.

"Arguing," Harry answers, just as Louis says, "flirting."

Harry stares up at him, heart giving this weird lurch in his chest. If this is Louis' idea of flirting, then he's giving off awfully mixed signals. Or maybe Harry's just terrible at reading him. Maybe he's been reading Louis wrong ever since the start.

"You're very confusing," he mumbles. He scrubs both hands down his face before folding them over his chest.

Louis just lets out a quiet laugh that sounds like disagreement tumbling from his lungs. He gives the fire a good poke.

"Believe me," he says, "you're not the easiest person to figure out either."

"Since when have I been a mystery?" Harry asks.

He's sure he's been straightforward right from the beginning, all of his intentions made clear from the moment he took Louis' hand and followed him out of Liam's tiny kitchen for a smoke in the snow.

But Louis shakes his head.

"Always," he says. "Since the night I met you."

"He's right," Liam chimes in. "You are kind of mysterious."

"I'm the least mysterious person I know," Harry argues. He doesn't need Liam's input for that.

"Freshman year," Liam starts with a snap of his fingers. "You sat next to me for like three months in that one class we had together."

"Sociology?" Harry supplies.

"Yeah," Liam nods. "And you didn't say a word to anyone, not even me, until we had that group project together."

Harry rolls his eyes. "That's because our lecture was at eight in the morning. It had nothing to do with being mysterious."

"No, I genuinely thought you had it out for me."

"What?" Harry asks, growing increasingly perplexed. He tries catching Louis' eye for a bit of help, but Louis remains useless and beautiful where he's tending to the fire.

"I'm just saying," Liam continues, hands in the air. "You're not as obvious as you think you are. You can be a bit misleading sometimes."

Louis snorts at that. Harry bumps him with his knee.

"Bugger off," he grumbles. "Neither of you know what you're talking about."

"Okay," Louis sighs and pats his outstretched leg. "You keep telling yourself that, love."

He leaves his hand on Harry's bare leg as he continues shifting logs and trying to get a full campfire roaring in the pit. Harry doesn't kick him off. He takes a deep breath and stares up at the patterns in the trees, watches the leaves shake, the sky darken, the last of the fluffy clouds pass by as the sun goes down. He isn't hiding anything. He's not trying to be someone he isn't. He's never been anything but genuine and open, so much so that he'd even had a heart tattooed out on his sleeve where he tends to hold it the most.

He'd kissed Louis that night at the party. He'd talked to him for hours, had fallen asleep with him, had felt something there, bone deep, something more powerful than any connection he'd ever felt with anyone else before, and he'd told Louis as much. He'd dug up the first Sharpie he could find when the morning came and both of their phones had run out of battery. He'd scribbled his number across the skin of Louis' arm, had watched the ink dry, had let Louis tease him when he'd let slip his intentions to _date the fuck out of him_ after that night. He hadn't hidden anything.

All he's been able to think since then, all he's thinking now, is that he read Louis wrong, that Louis isn't as simple, as straightforward, as he likes to think he is.

\---

Louis stumbles upon an enormous bottle of tequila.

That's the only way to explain how they all go from eating spaghetti around the picnic table to playing the world's most invasive drinking game on the blanket in front of the fire.

"Never have I ever..." Niall ponders as the rest of them refill the bottoms of their plastic cups, five rounds in. "Gone skinny dipping."

"Are you joking?" Liam asks, brows furrowed. He brings his cup to his lips and shakes his head. "Even I've done that, and I don't do anything."

Harry gives a quiet chuckle before throwing his own shot back. His head spins, just a little, that buzzed, warm, tingly feeling slowly spreading outward from his chest with every bit he drinks.

Louis drinks as well. Liam drinks. Niall just shrugs.

"What can I say?" he asks. "I've never had the opportunity."

"We'll have to change that," Louis promises.

Harry grabs the tequila from the center of the blanket and pours some more.

"Alright," he says, clearing his throat. All eyes are on him. He can't help but smirk. "Never have I ever slept with a girl."

"That's cheating," Niall accuses. "You and Lou could finish all your statements with _'with a girl'_ and you'll have me and Liam drinking this entire bottle."

"Sorry," Louis apologizes as he takes his shot, officially shutting Niall up. "What were you saying?"

"You've slept with a girl?" Liam frowns.

"I had two girlfriends before I realized I was gay," Louis explains. "It wasn't, like, _bad_ or anything. It's just that sex with blokes is on a whole other level of good."

"You think?" Liam asks. He turns to Harry.

"I mean, I quite like it," Harry laughs. He pushes his curls out of his face and finds Louis watching him with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Fair enough," Liam says. "Okay, so... Never have I ever been to France."

Louis groans and smacks his own forehead with the heel of his hand. "Come _on,_ Liam. No one fucking cares whether you've been to France. Niall's getting into skinny dipping and Harold clearly wants to talk about sex. Do something else."

"Alright, stop your moaning," Liam sighs and reaches over to flick Louis in the neck. "Never have I ever had a cock up me arse."

With two tiny sighs, both Harry and Louis lift their cups, saluting each other across the blanket.

"Cheers," Harry says and drinks his share.

Louis does the same, having now taken a shot for every person's statement but his own. He licks his lips and pushes his fringe to the side, cheeks starting to pinken, eyes starting to lose some focus. He plays it off rather well, though.

"I could say you're targeting us gays now, but I'm not one to make petty accusations," he says, fixing Niall a look. "Anyways. Never have I ever eaten a girl out."

Both Niall and Liam drink, which leads to another round of bickering, which leads to Louis teaming up with Harry to take down their straight friends, and Niall and Liam subsequently ganging up on them in return. It all ends with Harry getting drunk, Louis getting drunker, and the two of them eyeing each other up across the blanket every time one of them drinks when they're not expected to.

"Never have I ever sixty-nined," Niall claims, to which both Louis and Liam drink.

Harry leaves his cup in front of him, untouched.

"Really?" Louis asks, voice lifting curiously at the end when he notices. "You've never sucked someone off while they went down on you?"

"No," Harry says with a sad shake of his head. "Never had the pleasure."

"Interesting," Louis comments. "I always imagined you'd be up for more in bed."

"You imagine what I'm like in bed?" Harry raises an eyebrow.

He's enjoying this. He's enjoying having Louis' attention on him, enjoying the fact that Louis wants to know more about his sex life, enjoying knowing that Louis thinks about him that way.

"Now they're definitely flirting," Liam deduces.

Harry catches the pointed stare he fixes Niall across the way and feels his skin start to prickle with more than just the heat from the open fire. He tries to shake it, but he can't. It's definitely the tequila, definitely has nothing to do with what his friends are implying, what Louis is implying.

"My turn," he says, passing the quickly emptying bottle around their little circle. "Never have I ever been caught having a wank."

Surprisingly, only Niall takes a shot.

"That's disappointing," Liam says with a small laugh. "I think we need to heat this up a bit."

He glances between Harry and Louis. Harry doesn't imagine it.

"Never have I ever kissed someone else in this circle."

For a wild moment, no one dares to move. Harry's eyes instantly flicker across to Louis, but Louis doesn't give him any indication as to how he's going to play this off. If they both drink, their friends are going to know. They're going to ask questions. They're going to want to know the details, the when, the where, the how. They're probably going to think it happened within the past twenty-four hours. They're going to be wrong.

Harry can feel Liam's gaze watching both of them closely, studying them like some sort of science experiment he's been conducting this entire trip. Slowly, he sees Louis' hand start to reach for his cup, fingers ready to curl around it and shatter their awful secret, until-

"Oh fuck, I've kissed Harry."

Saved by the bloody bell. Sort of.

Niall tilts his head back and throws the last of his tequila down his throat, laughing as he does and nearly choking as he goes to swallow.

_"What?"_ Liam snorts, eyes wide. "When was this?"

"Err... first week of freshman year?" Niall tries to recall. "We were leaving the pub. I had to drag Harry away from this bloke he'd been getting on with all night. We barely knew each other then, but I got curious seeing them going at it."

"You wanted to know if it was any different," Harry laughs, the memory suddenly flooding back to him. Fuck, he'd forgotten all about that night. "You asked if kissing a guy was better than kissing a girl, and I offered to help you decide."

"Oh Christ," Liam chuckles. "Take your shot, Styles."

Harry does so, just as Louis tries to discretely tip his back as well. Liam doesn't notice, but Niall catches Louis setting his cup back down, and it's only a matter of seconds before he puts two and two together, because unless Louis has also kissed Niall, there's only one other person in the circle he could have kissed. From the way Niall's brow wrinkles, from the way his eyes dart from Louis' cup to his face, to Harry's cup, to Harry's face, Harry can only assume Niall hasn't had the pleasure of kissing Louis. Which means he knows. Which means they're screwed.

"Hang on," Niall says, eyes narrowing as he puts the game on pause. "Have you two-?"

"Yes," Harry sighs. He doesn't want to talk about this. "It's not a big deal. Can we just move on?"

"You've kissed each other?" Liam asks, turning to Louis.

Louis shrugs, doesn't say much, lets his silence do the talking for him. He refuses to look at Harry.

"When?" Niall tries. "Today?"

"Last night?" Liam guesses. "Oh god, you shared a tent. You probably hooked up. No wonder you've been clinging to each other all day."

"We haven't been clinging-" Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off.

"It was three fucking years ago, you nosey pricks," he says. "It was one night and it was only a kiss. It clearly never meant anything."

He finally meets Harry's eyes, just a quick flicker away from the other boys, and Harry's entire heart sinks. Instead of the usual warmth, the crinkles, the teasing light behind them, all he sees in the blue of Louis' eyes is cold, hard ice. That one night, however good it might have been for both of them, had been just that. One night. It hadn't meant anything to Louis, he hadn't felt anything Harry had. And Harry should have realized that, should have guessed as much when Louis never called, but he'd never heard it straight from Louis' mouth, not like that.

It hurts. It twists something dark inside of Harry, something he's tried not to think about for years and months. He feels a bit ill. That night had meant everything to him.

"Well, this just got a lot more interesting," Niall jokes. He must hear how awkward and forced Harry's tiny chuckle is because he throws an arm around Harry's waist and tugs him against his side.

"So I'm the only one who hasn't kissed you?" Liam says to Harry.

"We can try later on if you'd like," Harry teases, but his smile is weak. His heart isn't up for it.

Louis refills all of their cups.

"Alright," he says tiredly. "Never have I ever..." He blinks at Harry. "... Led someone on while they were drunk and vulnerable and trying to open up to me."

Which sounds exactly like something Louis _has_ done. To Harry.

Harry can't fucking believe him.

"That's awfully specific," Liam comments.

Nobody drinks, but Louis keeps watching Harry like he's waiting, like he's fucking accusing him of something Harry would never _dream_ of doing. He knows from firsthand experience how awful that feels, how fucked up it is to spill your heart out, your biggest fears, your most private thoughts to a stranger who's just in it for a bit of alcohol and a sloppy snog. Fuck Louis. Honestly. What did Harry ever do to him?

"Never have I ever been in love," Niall continues, trying to move the game past the sudden awkwardness. It's not feeling very fun anymore.

Harry reluctantly drinks, Liam drinks, Louis doesn't touch his.

And suddenly it's Harry's turn again. The tequila in his veins has stopped working its magic. His blood feels cold now. His head aches, his stomach churns, he's tired, he just wants to go to sleep. And yet, they've opened the can of worms. It's been sealed shut for years, tucked away in the corners of the past, hoping to remain untouched, forgotten, left to rot and rust and one day maybe go away on its own, and now Harry has his chance. It's a game of truths. He wants Louis to own up to everything.

"Okay," he starts, lifting his head and trying his best to focus solely on the boy across from him in his drunken state. "Never have I ever spent an entire night with someone, asked for their number, promised them a date, and then never called."

He waits for Louis to lift his cup, waits for him to grab the bottle from the center of their circle and down the entire fucking thing while a chorus of fire demons rises from the flames to chant _guilty, guilty, guilty,_ but Louis just glares back at him, jaw locked, cheeks sucked in, lips sealed tight.

To his left, Niall clears his throat.

"Well," he mutters, "this got weird fast."

"Time for something else?" Liam tries.

Harry shakes his head, seething. "You're supposed to fucking drink if you've done it."

"And if I haven't?" Louis says.

"Then you're a bloody liar."

_"Lads."_

"You do talk some shit," Louis sneers, completely ignoring Liam's protests. "How fucking drunk are you?"

"Not fucking drunk enough to fall for your bullshit," Harry snaps.

Louis has the audacity to laugh. Cold and sharp, like a knife to Harry's heart.

"Not this time?" Louis mocks.

Harry's had enough. "Fuck you."

He has this absurd urge to deck him, to swing until his fist collides with Louis' jaw and shuts him up for good. He can't fucking believe him. After all this time, he still can't believe Louis won't just admit to the shitty things he's done and apologize for dragging Harry down with him that night. Harry almost lunges across the blanket and throws a punch, but Niall leans across the way first and snatches up the nearly empty bottle of tequila.

"I think we've had enough of this for one night," he says. He holds his position between them.

Harry glares beyond him at Louis. Louis, who looks like he'd like to break Harry's nose, who looks like he's biting the insides of his cheeks so hard he might draw blood. Louis, who like he has so many things he'd like to say but can't find the means to unhinge his jaw and open his fucking mouth. He swallows, the entire column of his throat moving with it.

Harry fucking hates him.

Without another word, he gets to his feet, vision spinning, mind racing, heart thrumming heavily in his chest. He grabs his torch, grabs the spare blanket, zips his hoodie, and stumbles his way through the trees, down to the lake.

Bears and wolves, mosquitos and slugs be damned. He refuses to spend the night within twenty feet of Louis. He doesn't care if the dock might be horrible for his back, if the bugs could eat him alive, if he might roll straight into the water at some point in the night. As long as Louis is far enough away that Harry can't see him, hear his voice, give two flying fucks about him, he doesn't care.

In all the years since that party at Liam's, Harry hasn't once brought it up with Louis, hasn't mentioned it, hasn't asked him what happened, why he never called. But now the secret's out, their friends know they have a brief history, they've acknowledged the fact that it never amounted anything, they've acknowledge that something did happen. And the first thing Louis does is imply that Harry took advantage of him. The second thing he does is swear his own innocence. He can't even admit he'd never called.

Harry's stomach flips again as he sits on the edge of the dock, feet pulled up, knees hugged to his chest. He feels sick. He feels like he might be sick. God, he almost let Louis get away with it all over again, just in a new setting, a new time. He'd felt himself getting closer and closer to him all afternoon, in front of the fire, even while the alcohol was pouring down his throat. He'd been so stupid, so careless.

He closes his eyes and dips his head between his knees, breathes.

Maybe he'll pack his tent in the morning, shove his things in the boot of his car, drive back to Manchester. He can't imagine spending another two days out here in this godforsaken forest. He can't imagine spending them with Louis. He can't-

"Heads up!"

He lifts his head just in time to see two bare arses go streaking past him and jump off the end of the dock. Icy water splashes up, pelts him in the face, soaks through his hoodie, leaves him stunned for a hot second. And then two heads pop up from the lake, Niall and Liam treading water and laughing hysterically beneath the moonlight.

"You're both fucking nuts," Harry swears at them, tugging his sleeves past his fingers to wipe his face dry.

"Niall needed to try skinny dipping," Liam laughs.

"Was it worth it?" Harry calls out.

Niall dips below the surface, emerges at the foot of the dock shaking water from his eyes.

"Hell yeah," he decides. "But it's fucking freezing."

The dock creaks behind Harry and he turns to find Louis striding towards him, towards the end, hoodie abandoned on the beach, t-shirt being tugged over his head. Heat licks up his entire spine. He quickly looks away.

"What's wrong, Styles?" Louis asks as he steps up beside him and throws his shirt back to the shore. "Not going to join us?"

Harry stares resolutely ahead, teeth clenched, nails digging into his legs. He refuses to acknowledge him.

"Come on," Louis tries again. "The water might cool you off."

"I don't need any cooling off, thanks," Harry mutters as he watches Niall and Liam swim out further.

"Alright," Louis says. "I reckon you're wrong, but that's fine. Suit yourself."

A pile of fabric hits the deck. Harry can't help the way his eyes dart to the side. He can't help the way his heart goes into immediate overdrive when he sees Louis' bare feet stepping out of his joggers and kicking off his pants. He knows he shouldn't look. He _knows._ But there's a lot of alcohol burning up inside his body and, even in the dark, the silhouette of Louis' legs is entirely too enticing not to let his eyes flicker upwards, just for a second.

"Oi," Louis snaps, one hand covering himself, the other pushing Harry's face in the opposite direction.

Harry sighs, cheeks warm, vision spinning as he shrugs Louis off of him.

"No peeking," Louis scolds. "If you aren't going to strip, then you don't get to enjoy the view."

"I'm not enjoying the-"

But Louis dives into the water before Harry gets the chance to grumble out the rest of his sentence.

And then he's the only one left ashore, fully clothed while everyone else splashes about in the nude. And that just seems a bit silly.

"Come on!" Liam calls out to him.

Begrudgingly, Harry starts to strip. He slips his arms from his hoodie and pulls it over his head, sets it in a neat pile next to Louis' discarded bottoms and gets to his feet.

"Turn around," he tells the three sets of prying eyes,

"It's nothing we haven't seen before," Niall snorts, but he turns around all the same, Liam following suit, Louis hesitating, then dipping beneath the surface.

Harry takes the opportunity to slip his joggers and pants off in one go. Before he has the chance to overthink it, he leaps off the end of the dock.

The water is fucking _freezing_. As soon as he's submerged, his lungs go cold, his muscles seize, his nipples become hard as rocks, his balls shrinks up so close to his body, he's not sure they're even outside it anymore.

"Shit," he swears upon emerging, drops of water stuck in his eyelashes. "Shit, that's cold. My cock feels like it's going to fall off. What the fuck."

"Feel better?" Niall asks, swimming over to him.

Harry shakes his head. No. He doesn't feel better. He feels worse. He hates the cold, he hates that he can't feel his toes, he hates that Louis' laughing at his discomfort, that, in the soft moonlight with drops of water sparkling down the planes of his face, Louis still looks like some sort of gorgeous lake nymph. He really hates this.

"You stop feeling it after a minute," Liam promises.

Harry doesn't know if he can trust him.

"That's because your nerves go numb," he says through chattering teeth. He's too drunk for this. It's a struggle enough, trying to stay afloat, but not even the alcohol is keeping him warm at this point.

He starts swimming back to the shore, slipping under a few times, coughing up mouthfuls of lake water while the rest of the lads have a laugh as they mess about behind him. He's almost at the point where he can stand when a head pops out of the water a few feet to his left.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" he sighs, attempting to touch his toes to the muddy lake bottom. Only there is no lake bottom. Not within touching distance.

Before he can slip under again, Louis latches onto his bicep and holds him up. His fingers curl over Harry's goosebumped skin, their knees bump, their legs almost tangle, and the longer he clutches to Harry's arm, the more aware Harry becomes of the fact that they're both naked and wet and in need of warmth.

"Why did you call me a liar?" Louis asks as Harry tears his arm from his grip and starts swimming away again. Louis' voice shakes from the cold. "Harry," he calls, trying to keep up. "Why would I lie to you?"

"I don't know," Harry answers because he doesn't. Because he's never understood anything about Louis. "Why did you imply that I took advantage of you? Why would I ever want to lead you on? Everything I did and said that night at Liam's was real."

"Then why are we here?" Louis asks. He swims up beside Harry again and plants his feet in the mud when he realizes they're only chest-deep. Harry does the same, trudging to the shore.

"Where else would we be?" he asks.

"You said you wanted to see me again."

"I did."

"Then why didn't you?"

"You can't genuinely be asking me that," Harry accuses as the water level lowers to his waist. He pauses to consider his options, wishing he'd left his clothes on the beach instead of at the end of the dock. "Close your eyes," he says. "Or just, like. Don't look."

Louis shakes his head and crosses his arms over his bare chest, the moonlight turning his skin a pale blue as he steps in Harry's way. "Answer my question."

"Louis, for fuck's sake, _move."_

"Why didn't you ever try to see me again?"

"Why didn't _you?"_ Harry counters. "I gave you my number. What more did you want?"

"I don't know, maybe to ask you out on a date?" Louis tries.

He's not making any sense.

"You're not making any sense." Harry pushes past him, not even caring about his dignity anymore as his hips come out of the water. He covers himself with one hand, tries not to feel self-conscious about Louis' eyes on his backside while he wades out of the shallows and hurries down the dock to grab his clothes. He steps into his pants first, dripping all over the wood, muscles tense and shaking with the cold.

Louis appears next to him, hair plastered to his face as he bends to retrieve his own bottoms.

"I wasn't finished," he mutters angrily. He tugs the waistband over his hips and twists them until they're on straight.

Harry doesn't care.

"Sucks for you," he says. "I was finished three years ago."

"Yeah, you definitely made that clear," Louis agrees.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Louis says. "If you're so fucking clever, figure it out."

"S'not hard to figure out that you're an arse," Harry shoots back.

Before he knows what's happening, Louis grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a hard shove off the side of the dock. Harry has just enough sense to wrap his fingers around Louis' wrist and drag Louis down with him before his last bit of balance slips away and they fall with a loud splash back into the water.

He's still holding on when they emerge, spluttering, soaked again, chests rising and falling rapidly in the icy water. Louis blinks at him with drops rolling off his eyelashes, his lips parted slightly like he wants to say something, wants to yell again or spew some more confusing lines, call Harry a tosspot and splash water in his face, and Harry thinks he'd probably let him.

Instead, Louis kisses him.

In the grand scheme of kisses, it's pretty fucking terrible. It's impossible to hold onto each other and make it work, to even _try_ to make it good when both of them have to focus on staying afloat at the same time. Louis grabs Harry's face in his hands and kicks his feet out while their lips meet, and Harry wants desperately to grip Louis' hips and pull their bodies together, but he has to tread water for both of them, and it's just a disaster waiting to happen.

He reaches blindly for the end of the dock behind him, fingers digging into the wood to keep them from drowning.

"H," Louis pants against his mouth, sloppy from the start. He hooks his elbows around Harry's neck and wraps his legs around his waist, and Harry nearly sinks then and there with how good Louis' body feels pressed against his own.

He hikes Louis up, free hand curling beneath his thigh, tongue slipping past Louis' lips.

"Get a room!" Niall shouts from some distance away.

Harry imagines Louis flipping him off.

"Let's get out of here," Louis murmurs, breaking the kiss. He leans down to bury his face in Harry's neck and suck at the skin there, mouth hot, tongue flicking out to taste him, once, twice, like he might do if he were eating Harry out.

"Holy fuck," Harry gasps. He tips his head back to allow Louis better access, hand leaving Louis' thigh to spread across his arse.

"I really hate how attracted to you I am," Louis mumbles, reaching up to grip the dock on Harry's other side. "Of all the fucking people I could have gone camping with."

"You got stuck with me," Harry finishes for him. He should probably be pissed that Louis had the nerve to shove him off the dock in the middle of their argument, but with the way Louis tightens his thighs around his waist, the way he kisses down Harry's collarbone, lets go of his neck to dig his fingers into his chest, Harry can hardly remember what they were even arguing about in the first place. Something about leading each other on. Not calling back. Irrelevant.

"Come on," Louis urges, nipping at his neck. "Help me onto the dock."

His nails scrape over Harry's peaked nipple. Harry whimpers, breath catching hot in his throat as his hips rock up, clothed cock grinding against Louis'.

"Jesus, Styles," Louis swears. "How are you getting hard? My balls are so cold they're practically in my stomach."

"Shut up," Harry groans and gives Louis as much of a lift as he can with one hand holding them up.

Louis clambers out of the water, pants clinging to the backs of his thighs, the dark material slipping far enough down to reveal the top of his crack when he swings his legs onto the wood. Harry has to dunk his head under the water for a moment, just to sober up a bit.

As soon as they're both out, they grab the rest of their clothes, Harry's blanket, the torch and their shoes, and chase each other back to the shore. The moment their feet hit the beach, Harry drops his belongings and backs Louis up to the nearest tree, hands desperate to touch him, mouth desperate to taste him.

"So fucking gorgeous," he breathes, swiping his tongue over Louis bottom lip.

Louis opens his mouth and lets him inside, spreads his legs, makes room for Harry's thigh. It's too much, too good, Harry doesn't know what he wants to do with him first. He wraps an arm around Louis and draws him closer, pulls him off the tree and groans when Louis arches into him, grinding against his growing length.

"God, you're so eager," Louis smirks into the kiss. His teeth drag across Harry's lip as Harry tries to pull away, and the noise that emerges deep from Harry's throat would probably be embarrassing if he were with any other person.

"Want you," he murmurs, nails scraping up Louis' spine while Louis' hands find their way into the backs of his pants.

"I have an idea," Louis whispers, gripping at his cheeks, squeezing, spreading them apart.

Harry keens and rocks forward, all of his weight supported by the one arm on the tree behind Louis. "I have a _lot_ of ideas," he whines, feeling rather desperate.

"Were you lying when you said you'd never gotten head while sucking someone off?"

Harry's cock twitches. He lowers the hand on Louis' back to Louis' hip, thumb pulling at his waistband.

"No," he says, tugging it down on the one side. "Wasn't lying for any of it."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"S'alright," Harry tells him. "I'm not sure I believe you either."

"I'd still like to help with that one, though." Louis draws the back of Harry's briefs down past the swell of his arse, and Harry half expects him to drop to his knees in the dirt right there and give him the greatest blowjob of his short life.

Instead, he grabs Harry's hand and snatches the blanket off the ground. He leads them over the canoe where it's lying half in the water, half ashore, and spreads the blanket across the bottom. Before he climbs inside, he looks out onto the lake where Liam and Niall are clutching the end of the dock, still floating about.

"Just a warning," he calls out to them, holding Harry's hand. Harry crowds up behind him, cheeks growing warm. He buries his face in the back of Louis' neck, can't help latching his mouth to it as he wraps his arms around Louis from behind.

"I'm about to suck Harry's cock," Louis announces loud enough for the entire campground to hear. "If you'd like to get out of the water, I suggest you do it now."

Harry just about starts nudging his dick between Louis' covered cheeks when their two friends come scurrying out of the water, hands over their bits as if there's anything left to be modest about. For fuck's sake, he's about to have sex in a canoe while everyone within three kilometers knows about it. Shame? He can't remember what that feels like.

"Go, go, go," he urges Louis as soon as they're alone.

Louis snorts and climbs into the bottom of the canoe, pulling Harry down on top of him but stopping him when he starts to dive in for another kiss.

"You're going to have to lie the other way for this to work," he reminds Harry.

"Right," Harry nods and palms himself through his pants. "I'll just..."

He slides his briefs down past his thighs, wriggling out of them as he turns around and tries to get situated. The canoe isn't much wider than the backseat of his car - or a bathtub for that matter. He straddles Louis, one knee on either side of him, cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs, glad that the darkness is there to keep him from feeling too exposed when he realizes he's spread wide open about a foot in front of Louis' face.

He hears Louis exhale roughly, like he's taking a moment to psych himself up for this. And then he feels Louis' hands slide up his calves and settle on his thighs, pulling him further up the canoe while brushing his thumbs across Harry's still-damp skin.

"Gonna need you to shuffle a bit closer," Louis says, voice oddly unsteady.

Harry does as he's told. He shifts back and rocks the canoe about until he glances down and sees the bulge in Louis' pants right in front of his face. He peeks even further down, towards the other end of the canoe, and sees the tip of his cock hanging several inches above Louis' mouth.

"Okay?" he asks, his own mouth absolutely watering. He bends his head down and nudges his nose along the outline of Louis' cock, just teasing, just testing the waters.

Louis exhales again, his hot breath curling over the head of Harry's cock. Harry's pretty sure there's precome beading at the tip already. He can't believe they're actually doing this.

"I just really want to eat you out," Louis admits sadly. He runs his finger over Harry's hole, and Harry clenches automatically, his cock twitching again.

"Some other time," he promises, voice rough. "After we've gotten out of the forest and I've had a proper shower."

"Alright," Louis agrees, and then he cranes his neck and takes Harry in his mouth, just like that.

"Fuck a flaming duck," Harry swears. He lowers his forehead to Louis' cock and tries not to fuck straight down into his throat. He peels back the waistband of Louis' pants and pushes them down to his thighs. It's just like getting off on sucking someone else, he thinks as he stares down at Louis' cock in the dark. It's hard enough having to multitask when he's sober - doing this while drunk comes with its own obstacles.

"You have a really nice cock," he murmurs before taking it in his hand and giving it a few slow strokes.

Louis huffs out a quiet, breathy laugh through his nose, his mouth otherwise occupied.

"Like... really pretty," Harry decides. He gives it a lick, tongue flat against the tip, lips closing over the head, sucking gently before taking him further.

It all progresses rather quickly from there. Harry kind of lets Louis' mouth fall to the back of his mind as he tries to get him off. He's done it before - enjoyed the feeling of a hard cock nudging the back of his throat, running over his tongue, filling him up so much that he's come with just a few careless strokes in the middle of giving a blow job. He just really likes having a cock in his mouth, gets off on making others feel good, on the noises he pulls from them, on the way they come apart beneath him.

And Louis is no exception. If anything, he's going to send Harry straight to an early grave with the way things are going. Not only does his tongue feel like fucking _heaven_ as it swirls around the head of Harry's cock, but his fingers have managed to find their way to Harry's arse, his nose keeps nudging Harry's balls, and the noises - _fuck_ , the noises he makes when Harry swallows around him and goes deep on him have Harry slowing down, squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his fists in the blanket to keep from coming straight away.

"Oh my god," Louis groans, pulling off as Harry deep throats him, spit dripping down the base of his cock.

Harry's answering breaths come in forced puffs through his nose. He hasn't done this in a while, hasn't had anyone worth doing it for, but he wants to do it with Louis. He wants this to be the greatest blowjob Louis has ever experienced, wants to suck his brains out through the end of his dick, wants to taste him, all of him, wants Louis to realize what he's been missing out on all these years.

"Slow down," Louis pants. "Jesus, slow down. I can't- Fuck."

He bucks up into Harry's mouth, and Harry gags, hands flying up to still him. He'd almost been anticipating it. The sudden roughness only urges him on.

"Christ," Louis hisses. "You're not even from this world. Come here."

Harry barely registers Louis pulling his hips down and taking him back in his mouth. He's so close to getting Louis to come, it's all he can focus on. He moans around him, fingers curling over whatever he can't fit in his mouth, massaging his balls, working him with his entire body, back arching into it, head bobbing up and down.

One particularly strong twitch and a jerk of Louis' hips is all the warning he gets before Louis comes, shooting down his throat, pulling out just enough to spill the rest of his load over his tongue.

Harry swallows. He sucks Louis dry, licks him clean, closes his eyes and gives a shallow fuck into his mouth.

"This okay?" he exhales roughly, dropping to his elbows at the bottom of the canoe.

Louis doesn't answer. He just digs his fingers into Harry's thighs and tries to pull him even closer, throat relaxing, opening up for Harry to slide into. The entire canoe creaks when Harry shifts back and starts thrusting unashamedly. He tries to keep the snapping of his hips under control, tries to keep himself from accidentally choking Louis with his cock, but Louis doesn't seem to care. If anything, the throaty groans that come spilling from him sound like encouragements.

When Harry finally comes, it's with a stutter of his hips, sweat dripping down his forehead, a muttered warning and a groan before he spills into Louis' mouth. All of his muscles pull tight, his legs tremble to keep him up on either side of Louis' head, and _oh fuck_. He pulses between Louis' lips, breath catching high in his throat, heart stuttering against his ribs. Louis swallows around him, throat convulsing, fingers gripping Harry's thighs so hard just to keep him as deep as he is, that Harry knows he's going to bruise.

"Holy fuck," Harry babbles, forehead pressed to Louis' thigh as he rocks into him a few more times. "Jesus Christ- Fucking _shit."_

Louis pulls off, tongue swirling around the head and flicking right over Harry's blurting slit before he sighs and relaxes back against the blanket. He has the audacity to laugh, breathy and smug, like he knows he did good.

"What the hell was that?" Harry groans, attempting to move his limbs around so he can collapse next to Louis and maybe kiss him a few more times. "What the fuck did we just do?"

"You can thank me later," Louis sighs. His voice is absolutely destroyed. He coughs to clear his throat, sliding to one side of the canoe and allowing Harry to fall into the space next to him.

Harry tucks into his side, in need of a cuddle, in need of some warmth. He pulls the edge of the blanket over them, hiking his leg up Louis' thigh.

"Can I thank you now?" he whispers into Louis' shoulder, pecking a kiss to it.

"I mean, yeah," Louis nods. "But it still won't make me like you."

"Not even a little?" Harry bites at Louis' smooth skin. Christ, this must be the end. He's actually trying to flirt with this boy, no more arguing, just his usual drunken, reckless stupidity. It's no wonder they keep ending up in the same spot. Tequila clearly has it out for them.

"You don't want me to like you," Louis says quietly, tracing circles along Harry's arm.

Harry curls closer to his side, brow furrowing.

"'Course I do," he murmurs. "That's all I've wanted since I met you."

Louis sighs, but he doesn't say anything, not for a long time. He reaches up to untwist the elastic from around Harry's wet hair, fingers combing through his curls, pulling gently. Harry takes that as his cue to climb atop him and press their lips together, kissing him slowly, savoring every careful swipe of his tongue, tasting himself in the corners of Louis' mouth.

It feels like that first night all over again, the two of them uninhibited from the alcohol, lying together in close quarters, getting to know each other in some of the most intimate ways. Harry should probably be worried, put on high alert by the sirens going off in his head, the annoying fluttering in his chest that only increases with every breath Louis manages to steal from him, but he can't help it. He's only human. He'll never learn from his mistakes.

"I've got one more," Louis murmurs when things start to slow down, when sleep starts to sneak up on them.

"What's that?" Harry asks, ear pressed to Louis' chest and listening to the beat of his heart.

"Never have I ever," Louis starts quietly, "been stupid enough to fall for the same person twice."

He slides his fingers back into Harry's hair and tangles them up in his curls. The gentle stroking over his scalp is almost enough to dull the pang of disappointment Harry suddenly feels deep within his chest, but the fact of the matter is that it's even there at all. He doesn't know why it stings the way it does, why it has him frowning into Louis' skin and wondering whether or not he should untangle their limbs and put some distance back between them, but then he thinks about it, and, well.

"If we had any more tequila," he whispers, voice barely audible under the cover of darkness, beneath all the stars in the galaxy, "I might just have to drink."

"Might?" Louis asks.

"Yeah," Harry murmurs. "M'feeling pretty stupid right now."

"Just now?"

Louis gets a pinch in the ribs for that. He tries to squirm away, but Harry holds tight, doesn't let him get too far.

"Don't leave," he says quietly. "You have to protect me from the bears tonight."

"You're such a dork," Louis sighs. "But sure, I'll stay."

"Promise?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

It's a loaded question, one that doesn't have a good answer. Harry keeps his mouth shut for that reason alone and tries not to think about it. He wants sweet dreams tonight. He doesn't want to fall asleep in another foul mood, doesn't want to have to climb out of this canoe and find his pants in the dark, trudge back to his tent just to get away from Louis.

He drags the blanket higher over his shoulder, kisses Louis' chest, and lets the question melt away into the night.

\---

Either Louis suffers from a terrible change of heart sometime between midnight and sunrise, or he's the worst lying sack of shit Harry has ever had the misfortune of opening his heart to.

Those are his first thoughts when he wakes up with one hell of a hangover, naked, alone, and floating somewhere in the middle of the lake. His second thoughts are _what the honest to God fuck?_ Because really. What the _fuck?_

He sits up far too quickly, canoe rocking, stomach churning, vision blacking out around the edges as all of the blood rushes out of his head. He dry heaves once, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowing the nausea as best as he can. And then he tries to shuffle to the other end of the canoe to grab his pants, and the motion, the slight wobble of boat in the smallest, rippling waves, is just enough to have him gripping the metal sides and emptying his stomach over the edge.

Wonderful.

Louis Tomlinson must honestly, genuinely detest him.

It takes him ten minutes to cough up every last bit of tequila from the night before, another ten to slip his pants on and open his eyes enough to orient himself in the direction of their campsite, and by the time he paddles over to it and drags the canoe back ashore, the sun has fully risen, his head is pounding like a fucking jackhammer, and he's about ready to puke again.

The lads are all sat at the picnic table when Harry stumbles past them, hoodie back over his head, joggers rolled up past his ankles. Niall stares at him with wide eyes, Liam opens his mouth like he wants to ask what happened, and Harry just gives them both a fierce shake of his head, lips sealed shut, trying to keep from dry heaving.

Louis doesn't even glance up from where he's pushing his eggs around his plate. And that's fucking fine. Harry's just going to ignore him anyway.

He digs a jug of water from their food supply, pours half of it down the back of his throat, crawls inside his tent, and sleeps for another three hours.

\---

"I made you a sandwich."

"That's nice," Harry says, reaching through his tent flap for said sandwich, ready to pry it from Niall's fingers.

Niall pulls it away and seals its bag shut. "It's for the hike," he says. "You have to come out and walk with us if you want to eat it."

"Do you know how hungover I am?" Harry groans and drops his head between his bent knees. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries to get the spinning to stop.

"Some fresh air and exercise will be good for you, I promise."

"I've been breathing nothing but fresh air for _days,"_ Harry points out. "Why are you being so mean to me?"

This is the worst camping trip he's ever been on. Everything about it sucks. Figuratively and quite literally. He's never drinking again. He's never kissing a boy or falling asleep with one or believing a word anyone ever says to him again.

"If it makes you feel any better, Louis' just as hungover."

It doesn't make Harry feel any better, but it does help him get out of the tent and into Liam's car for a short drive to the start of the trail. Louis sits in the front passenger seat, head resting against the window the entire way. He doesn't say a word. There's a tiny lovebite bruising on the side of his neck and he indeed looks about as awful as Harry feels. All the minuscule reminders of the night before are left there in plain sight, but there's not a single thing Harry can work up the energy to say to him.

He doesn't get it. He just doesn't understand what Louis' deal is, how he can keep pulling him in, enticing him, getting him to fall for his tricks not once, but _twice_. Maybe Harry hadn't expected to wake up in the morning, roll over, have everything settled between them and the past forgotten, but he sure as hell couldn't have expected _this._

It doesn't even feel like commitment issues on Louis' part. It feels deeper than that, it always has. If Louis were ever afraid of giving himself over to Harry, of opening up, of giving them a chance, he wouldn't be acting like this. He wouldn't have strung Harry along three years ago, and he wouldn't have pulled him into that canoe last night. He wouldn't have spilled those beers on him, wouldn't have given him such a difficult time these past two days or three years, wouldn't have pushed his sleeping body out for a float in the middle of the bloody lake.

That's not a fear of commitment. That's a grudge. That's a cold-hearted dislike. That's an intense aversion to Harry for something Harry cannot even fathom he's done.

He's still confused. He's hurt - _again_ \- and he doesn't really have any intention of getting to the bottom of it. He's learned his lesson this time, and Louis doesn't deserve a third chance.

"Hey," Niall pulls him from his thoughts not ten minutes into their adventure. "You want to talk about it?"

He slows down a bit until Liam and Louis are out of earshot, the two of them trekking on down the marked path.

"Not really," Harry shrugs. "I don't even know where I would start."

"How about with the kiss?" Niall suggests. "Three years ago? How'd that happen?"

"Same way it happened last night," Harry admits with a wry laugh. "Lots of tequila. It was at Liam's party, actually. The one with the snow. Somehow we got to talking early on, and then we just kind of stuck together all night. He was just, like, so interesting to talk to, you know? Like, he's always been so witty and clever, and he just seemed to, like, genuinely _care_ about the stupid, drunk shit I was saying to him. And no one ever seems to care about that."

"Shit," Niall says, sounding surprised. "I thought it was just a bit of drunk snogging. You spent the entire night with him?"

Harry glances ahead at Louis, at the way his head is bent, the way his attention seems to be focused on the forest floor, how exhausted he looks.

"We stuffed a blanket in Liam's bath," he goes on. "All we did was sit in there and talk for hours. I think we were the last two people awake in that house."

He ducks under a half-fallen tree and adjusts his rucksack over his sunburnt shoulders.

"We kissed," he says. "That's all we did. We kissed and we fell asleep together, and when we woke up, both of our phones were dead, so I ran downstairs and grabbed a Sharpie from Liam's kitchen, wrote my number on the inside of his arm, and told him I wanted to see him again."

"And then what?" Niall asks.

Harry shrugs. "He never called."

He leaves out the part where he'd phoned his mum that afternoon and joked to her that he'd met _the one_. He leaves out the part where he'd spent days, _weeks_ even, carrying his phone around like a lifeline, jumping every time he got a notification, debating whether or not he should just ask around for Louis' number and call him himself. He'd worked himself into a complete frenzy over it. He'd been miserable. He'd been rejected. He'd felt foolish for holding one stupid night on some stupid pedestal, for thinking it had mattered, for giving even a tiny piece of his heart to a boy at a party.

Maybe he doesn't need to say any of it. Maybe Niall already knows.

"You fell hard for him," he says. It's not a question.

"Hard and fast," Harry mumbles, kicking a small twig out of their path. "All it took was one night."

Taking pity on him once and for all, Niall hooks an arm around Harry's waist and draws him to his side, the two of them trudging on together through the forest.

"So, why does he hate you so much?" Niall asks.

Harry watches Louis tiptoe around a muddy section of the trail, footsteps measured and almost graceful, everything about him absolutely attractive.

"I don't know," he says, chest heavy with the weight of a thousand unanswered questions. "I don't know if I ever will."

They come to a fork in the path, and Liam and Louis stop to wait up for them. It effectively ends any and all chances of continuing the conversation, which is fine. Harry doesn't really want to talk about it any longer. He's tired and confused, and Louis' just standing there with a scowl on his stupid face and his arms crossed over his chest like some pissed-off Prince of Ice and Cold Things.

"Which way?" Liam asks.

"Left leads us around the pond," Niall says, glancing quickly at his folded map. "And if we go right, it's like three times the distance with a shittier view."

"Left, then?" Louis suggests. He doesn't wait for anyone to agree with him before he takes off down the preferred path, ready to get out of the forest as quickly as he can.

Harry doesn't blame him. He also doesn't try to talk to him or breathe within ten feet of him, makes sure both Liam and Niall are separating them at all times. It's the only thing he knows how to do at the moment. Other than that, he's not sure he knows much at all.

They hike along in relative quiet, Niall and Liam holding up both ends of the conversation and only bringing up topics or asking questions that require simple answers and contributions from Harry and Louis. It keeps things from getting too awkward, keeps them moving at a steady pace, feet falling over roots and rocks, dried up mud puddles and narrow wooden bridges.

Halfway around the lake, there's an opening in the trail. They each grab seats on a fallen log and pull out their sandwiches - peanut butter and jelly this time. Harry welcomes the break, his muscles still aching from the night before, his body still begging for rehydration. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief as he plants his bum on one end of the log and stretches his legs out in front of him.

"You alright?" Liam asks, sitting next to him.

Harry nods, head bent over his food. "Just fucking hungover."

"Louis, too," Liam laughs. "I think the both of you drank more than me and Niall combined."

"That's 'cause you guys cheated with all the 'Never have I ever done gay stuff,'" Harry muses. "Louis and I were drinking almost every turn."

He can feel Louis' eyes shift to them from the other end of the log at the mention of his name. Harry ignores him, or at least he tries to. He's very difficult to not pay attention to.

"Maybe you should have teamed up better," Liam suggests. "You two could have easily ganged up on me and Niall if you'd put your differences aside."

"We don't have any differences," Louis comments.

Harry swallows his bite of sandwich. He frowns at Louis. "Do we not?"

"We hooked up and we're leaving it at that," Louis shrugs. "Isn't that what you like? Isn't that what you're after?"

Somehow, Harry finds himself frowning even harder. No, that's not what he likes. No, that's never been something he's gone searching for. He's not exactly the hook-up type. He has this awful habit of expecting a little more from it when all is said and done.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbles and lowers his eyes back to his food. "You know me. Just in it for the sex."

"What are you talking about?" Niall asks, confused. "That's not you at all."

"Well," Harry shrugs. "Louis knows me best."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Niall shoot Liam a quick glance, something unspoken passing between them. Harry honestly doesn't even care, they can talk as much about him behind his back as they'd like. If it gets him out of this conversation it's fine.

He finishes eating, listening to the birds chirp away above their heads, listening to the lads go back and forth about plans for the last dinner of the trip that night. They decide on burgers, salads, and of course beer, the meal scraped together with whatever food they have left over, though Harry insists he's not drinking any more alcohol for at least three months. Louis gets up after he's tucked his rubbish away in his rucksack, and takes off into the forest for a piss. Harry does the same, wandering in the opposite direction until he's far enough away that no one can see him.

When he cuts back through the trees, adjusting himself in his shorts, everyone is gone. Everyone except for Louis, who emerges from the other side of the path, looking just as confused.

"Where'd they go?" Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head, trying to spot their friends through the trees. "They didn't feel like waiting for us apparently."

"We were gone for all of two minutes," Louis points out.

"Maybe they just wanted a head start."

Harry doesn't know. All he can really do is to continue along the path, maybe jog a bit to try and catch up in the hopes that Liam and Niall are waiting just up ahead somewhere. He's not sure how his body would feel about that though, or Louis' for that matter, not that Louis actually matters. He can stay behind and rot in the forest if he'd like. Harry wouldn't stop him.

"Let's go," he sighs anyway and starts once more down the trail, Louis following at least several meters behind.

After ten minutes of trekking on in complete silence, it becomes increasingly apparent that their friends have either abandoned them or been eaten by bears. And since they haven't heard any screaming or seen any blood or detached limbs, Harry can only assume they've been abandoned.

Louis kicks a rock into a tree. "Why would they just leave us like that?"

"Same reason they brought us on this hike," Harry suggests. "Same reason they drove us out into the middle of nowhere for a four day camping trip. Same reason they made us drink so much last night."

"They hate us?" Louis tries.

"Exactly," Harry nods. Now everyone that he's spent the last few days with is trying to make his life miserable. He can't trust anyone anymore. Not even Niall. The first thing he's going to do when he gets back to Manchester is put up an advertisement on the internet for some new friends. The only qualifications they'll need to meet are that they must not suck.

"Fuck," Louis mutters. "I can't believe they left me alone with _you."_

Harry sighs and shakes his head, tries not to let it get under his skin as he keeps walking. "You're always so sweet."

"Shut up, Styles."

"The _sweetest,"_ Harry amends. "I can feel my heart melting with every insult you throw my way."

"Honestly? Fuck off."

"Gladly."

"After all," Louis says, "it's what you do best."

That throws Harry for a loop.

"What?" he asks, slowing the hurried pace they'd been walking in the hopes of finding their friends. It doesn't matter anymore, they're clearly not going to catch up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Louis keeps on ahead of him. "Just that you have a history."

"Of what?"

"Of fucking off."

Harry puts on the brakes. "I'm sorry?" he says, not very sorry at all. "Was it not _you_ who left me in a canoe this morning and pushed me out into the middle of the lake?"

"Maybe it was the wind," Louis suggests, turning around and walking backwards away from him. "Maybe I got up to get a drink and the canoe just drifted off without my extra weight to hold it down."

Harry rolls his eyes.

"You're so fucking obnoxious."

"Tell me something I haven't heard."

"What _history_ are you talking about?" Harry asks instead.

"I think you know what I'm talking about," Louis insists. He turns back around, and Harry has to start walking again to keep up.

"I don't think I do," Harry tries. Because he doesn't. When has he ever truly known anything with regards to Louis? "I know I wasn't the one who fucked off the first time. I know I spent that entire night with you. I know I gave you my number and told you to call. I did my part. I waited for you and I was right there, and I just... I don't have a fucking _clue_ what you're talking about."

"Christ," Louis mutters. "Can't you ever just admit that you fucked up? Stop pretending you're so innocent in what actually happened, acting like I never gave you a chance, like _I_ was the one who led you on. If you really didn't want to see me again, just fucking own up to it and tell me. I can take it."

"But I did want to see you again," Harry says, brow furrowing.

"Of course you did," Louis scoffs. "Just like you wanted to wake up next to me this morning and do it all over again, only this time sober."

He pauses at another fork in the trail to make sure they're headed in the right direction, but Harry trudges past him, having already made up his mind.

"I mean," he says, stepping out of Louis' way when Louis tries to get in front again, "I wouldn't have been opposed to it. It's a shame you thought you had to ruin a perfectly good morning the way you did."

"You would have ruined it anyway."

"Do you ever, like, stop to think about how your perception of me is completely wrong?" Harry asks.

Louis scratches at his bicep, unbothered. "Is it? I wasn't aware."

"That first night I met you," Harry starts, "I was nothing but open and honest with you. I told you how I felt about you when I barely fucking knew you. Being with you, even for a few hours just left me with this feeling that, like, I don't know-" He shakes his head. It's going to sound so fucking stupid now. "Being with you just felt _right._ It felt like I was meant to be with you and find you that night."

Louis stumbles over an uneven patch of dirt as he whips his head around to glare at Harry. Harry's entire face heats up. He wishes he could bury his head in the mud and never think about Louis Tomlinson again. He wishes he could just end this already and get this feeling out of his chest once and for all.

"You still make absolutely no fucking sense," Louis insists, shaking his head. "You say all of this shit, you flirt with me, you kiss me, you tell me you're stupid enough to fall for me twice, and I'm still not even sure if you ever really fell for me once."

"I did," Harry promises. "I called my mom the day after the party and told her all about you. I was ready to fall in love with you."

"You barely knew me."

"I know," Harry says with a miserable laugh. "Believe me, I fucking know."

"But your phone worked?" Louis asks, crossing a narrow footbridge consisting of two wooden beams.

Harry follows after him, lips pursed in thought.

"Yes?" he answers, trying to figure out how this is relevant.

"Then why didn't you ever text me back?" Louis asks, which. _What?_

Harry hooks his thumbs in the straps of his rucksack, head starting to hurt again from all of the furrowing his brow is doing. "How could I text you back if you never texted me to begin with?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I never got any texts, Louis."

"Why not?" Louis asks.

"I don't know," Harry tries. "Because I didn't? Because you never sent them?"

Louis slows to a stop and turns to face Harry again, looking every bit as confused as Harry feels. Harry's never seen so many creases in one forehead. He almost reaches out to smooth them over with his thumb, but Louis opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and that's enough for Harry to cross his arms over his chest and wait.

"What do you mean I never sent them?" Louis asks, taking a step towards him and closing the safe space between them. "I sent you so many messages I've hardly been able to look you in the eye since. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Imagine sending someone _twenty_ messages and not hearing a _single_ thing back from them? Not even a rejection."

Harry's brain won't stop spinning. "Twenty messages?"

"Twenty fucking messages, four phone calls, and the sorriest voicemail you've probably ever heard. What the hell, Styles? How do you not remember this?"

"Because I never got them?" Harry says. He takes a step back. He needs to sit down. There's a sizable rock on the path behind him, which he immediately claims. Louis comes to stand before him.

"You never got them?" he asks. "Any of them?"

Harry shakes his head. "None of them."

"How is that possible?" Louis asks. His voice keeps growing higher the more bewildered he gets.

"Maybe you had the wrong number?" Harry suggests. "Maybe something was wrong with our phones."

The past three years of his life feel like a complete lie. Holy shit.

"I had the right number," Louis insists, swinging his rucksack off one shoulder to dig his phone from one of the pockets. He's had it turned off to save the battery for the drive home, but he powers it up, foot tapping impatiently as they wait for it to come to life. As soon as it's on, he pulls up his contacts and shows Harry. He's only in there as _Harry,_ no surname because he doesn't remember giving it to Louis the night of the party. His contact photo is a photo of Louis' arm with his phone number written on it in black Sharpie.

Louis reads the number off the contact information first.

Harry's heart drops through his stomach and out his arse.

"Eight _six?"_ he repeats the last two digits.

"Yeah, that's what it says," Louis frowns and starts zooming in on the photo he took of his arm. "Same thing here. Eight six. Look for yourself."

Harry looks again, his familiar scrawl bringing back so many memories of that night, memories he'd forgotten, memories he'd made himself forget.

"That's a zero, not a six," he says, ever so quietly. "It's eight _zero_. The last digit is zero."

Louis snatches his phone back and squints at the screen. "No way."

"Oh my god," Harry drops his head between his knees and buries his face in his hands. "Please tell me this is all a terrible joke."

_"Harry,"_ Louis groans and sits down right in front of him in the dirt. "Harry," he whines. "What the fuck?"

"I know."

"Why is your handwriting so bad?" Louis asks. "Why did you do this to us?"

"I _know,"_ Harry laments and picks his head up. "Jesus, Louis, I thought you fucking hated me."

"I mean, I do. I did," Louis corrects. "But now I'm just sad. I thought you were rejecting me the entire time."

"I thought you didn't want to date me."

"Dating you would have been, like, the highlight of my life," Louis says with a delirious little laugh. "I'm so into you, you have no idea. Do you know how fit you are? Do you know how funny you are?"

Harry blushes, ducks his head a little to try and hide the stupid, embarrassing grin on his face. "Please," he laughs quietly. "Don't let me stop you."

"It's been so annoying being this close to you these past few days," Louis continues. "On one hand, I had to treat you like rubbish because I thought you had no problem treating me that way. And on the other hand, you're just, like. So much fun to be around? It's so difficult to hate you."

Harry could listen to Louis praising him like this for the rest of his life.

"You want to date me?" he asks with a crooked smile, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "You think I'm fun?"

"Don't get too cocky," Louis says, but he's smirking, trying to fight his own smile.

"I've had two boyfriends since the night I met you," Harry says, "and none of them, in all the time I had with them, ever made me feel any of the things I felt within hours of knowing you."

He slides carefully off the rock, getting to his knees in front of Louis, the need to erase the space between them growing stronger and stronger the longer they sit there. It's like seeing him in a new light. It's like taking off a pair of shitty, horribly-tinted sunglasses for the first time in three years and realizing he's been seeing the world all askew and distorted for as long as he can remember.

Now he's allowed to unlock that dark little chamber of his heart. He's allowed to think the things, feel the things, want the things he hasn't let himself think about, feel or want ever since he gave up on Louis.

"I really want to kiss you," he breathes. He doesn't just want it, it's almost like he _needs_ it, like he might die if he doesn't get his lips on Louis.

"Okay," Louis says, throat bobbing as he visibly swallows. His eyes fall to Harry's mouth, his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Harry is a goner. He can't believe they missed three years of this all because Louis put the wrong fucking number in his phone.

"I'm going to kiss you," he says more definitively.

"Yes," Louis nods. "Yes, that would be good."

Harry leans in as Louis braces himself with his hands in the dirt. He's done this before, several times in fact, but it still takes his breath away the moment their lips touch, the moment his fingertips brush Louis' jaw, the moment Louis immediately arches into him, trying to deepen every touch, every feeling all at once. God, Harry's heart is racing. He's actually trembling a little. Fucking hell.

He's kissing Louis again. On purpose, and not because he's had too much to drink and because there's a cute, warm boy flirting with him. He's kissing Louis because Louis wants to date him, because Louis thinks he's fit, because Louis has been just as confused and conflicted over their love-hate relationship as Harry has, and this is apparently all they've both ever wanted. They're so stupid.

Louis leans back on his hands and Harry practically climbs into his lap, cradling his face with his fingers and nudging his nose deeper into his cheek just to get as close as he can.

"This is nice," Louis mumbles, causing Harry to smile against his mouth. "I like not having to hate you."

"I like you not hating me," Harry agrees and moves his hands around the back of Louis' neck, fingers playing with the short bristles of hair back there. He wants to run his fingers through Louis' hair every hour of every day. He wants to kiss him everywhere all the time.

Louis presses their mouths together again, and Harry has to fight really hard not to grind down in his lap.

"We should probably go," he murmurs instead. "Liam and Niall are going to start worrying if we're not back at the car soon."

Louis sighs and pulls back, just sitting there, staring up at Harry like Harry's ruined his life again. "I suppose you're right."

"Do you think they did this on purpose?" Harry asks, thumbing at the sides of Louis' neck. He dips his head down to peck his lips once more. Just because.

"Before we stopped for lunch, I told Liam about the party and how you never answered my texts or calls," Louis explains.

Harry nods. "I just told Niall you never called."

"They probably put both sides of the story together in the five seconds we were away from them and decided to force us together."

"Should we thank them?" Harry asks, laughing a bit as Louis tries to mouth at his neck. "Get off, you nutter."

"Actually," Louis starts. He gets this wicked glint in his eyes, and Harry likes this. He likes being on Louis' side. "What if you and I stay in here for a bit longer, Styles? Make them think we got lost or murdered each other. Maybe they deserve to worry a little for trying to manipulate us like that."

"But whatever will we do with our time?" Harry asks, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

"I have a few ideas," Louis says with a waggle of his eyebrows. He sits up straight and cleans his palms on his shorts before grabbing at Harry's waist and slipping his hands under the hem of his shirt.

"These are nice ideas," Harry decides.

He likes Louis. He really, really does.

\---

They emerge from the woods about an hour later, having spent an extra few minutes readjusting their clothes and piecing their hair back in place after a very thorough petting. Louis stomps out first, kicking up dirt and gravel in his path, arms crossed, face pinched like he might go off at any moment. Harry ducks his head and waddles after him, trying _so hard_ not to laugh, to not give anything away, to just appear as hungover and downtrodden as he'd been when Liam and Niall had first abandoned them.

If there's dirt smudged across his cheek and a few leaves in his hair, he can just say he fell, right? Or Louis pushed him? If they're speaking technically, then Louis technically did push him, only with ease and his permission as he lowered him to the ground so he could straddle him and slip him the tongue.

"Thanks for waiting, you tossers," Louis mutters at their two meddling friends before climbing into the back of Liam's car and slamming the door shut.

Liam and Niall blink at Harry with horror written across their faces as they scramble off the boot and rush to apologize.

Harry can't do this. He can't school his face into anything serious at the moment, even when he scrubs a hand over his mouth and tries to wipe away his smile.

"You guys suck," is all he says, dropping his head and covering his face with both his hands. It probably looks like he's crying, but he honestly can't stop laughing to himself. He wishes Louis were outside to hear this. And that's a weird thought, isn't it? Wishing Louis were anywhere near him, wanting to share something with him? He'll have to get used to that.

Niall wraps him up in his arms, completely oozing concern and guilt as he strokes the back of his head and sways him side to side.

"H, there's something you need to know," he murmurs as Liam walks away to talk Louis out of the car.

Harry fakes a sniffle. It's all he can manage without cracking up.

"We think there's been a terrible mistake," Niall continues. "Liam was talking to Louis earlier and he thinks there was something wrong with your- Hang on. Is that a lovebite? Is that a fucking fresh lovebite on your neck?"

Busted.

Harry snorts, pulling away and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"And you're not even crying real tears," Niall sighs, giving him a playful shove. "I take it you worked everything out?"

"We did," Harry nods. "And we feel incredibly foolish for the way we've behaved. I guess I should thank you for ditching us in the woods."

"Yeah, alright," Niall says with a huge grin before pulling him in for a real hug. "Should I start saving for the wedding gift?"

_"Niall,_ I haven't even taken him on a first date."

"But you will, won't you?"

"Yes," Harry says, tucking his face into Niall's shoulder and letting himself be hugged. "As soon as you get us out of this fucking forest."

\---

That night, they grill hamburgers and crack open the last of the beers, Harry vowing to only drink one, and Louis laughing at him as he squeezes into the folding chair beside him. He brings the blanket this time, draping it over both of their laps and molding into Harry's side after they've finished eating.

It's the last night they're all going to spend together for the foreseeable future. Louis is moving to London in a few days. Liam will be busy with his girlfriend. Niall has his internship in Manchester. And Harry? Maybe he'll stop in Holmes Chapel for a bit before he takes off for London as well.

Or he could visit Louis. If Louis will have him.

They have three entire years to catch up on, three years of misunderstandings to unwind and dissect and apologize for, three years of character assumptions to reverse. Harry wants to know Louis. He wants to sit with him in a little cafe and fall for him the right way. He wants to hear all of his stories, laugh at all of his jokes, learn everything he never bothered to learn about him, too afraid of getting too attached to someone so cruel.

But that's not Louis, not anymore hopefully.

All because of a wrong phone number. Fucking hell.

They roast the rest of the marshmallows and watch Liam and Niall drink the rest of the beer. Harry already knows he's driving Niall home in the morning, so he assumes Louis will take the wheel for Liam. He can't wait to blast the Spice Girls for Niall's hungover ears as a bit of revenge for making him go on that hike. He can't wait to go home and take a proper shower, fall asleep in a proper bed.

But tonight, he's content to just cuddle into Louis' side in a chair too small for the both of them. He's content to just listen to Louis' voice as he recounts memories from the past four years. There aren't a lot that the two of them share, but he remembers Niall's birthday party, Liam's Halloween party, lots of other parties that they'd both attended and avoided each other at. He wants to apologize for all of them. He wants to apologize for his awful handwriting and his inability to remember to charge his phone.

The worst thing about it, is that it feels like they've wasted so much time hating each other.

"I still can't believe it was all a misunderstanding," Louis mumbles in Harry's ear when the fire has started to die and all the stars have come out to say hello.

Harry shifts a bit from where he'd been dozing with his face in Louis' neck.

"I know," he murmurs, voice rough with the beginnings of sleep.

"I can probably stop being so mean to you now," Louis muses.

"Good idea."

"But," Louis laughs quietly, chest rising and falling under Harry's palm, "I think we can both agree that you deserve a little teasing for your abysmal penmanship. You need to work on your zeroes, mate."

"You'll have to teach me when we get back to Manchester," Harry insists. He yawns, covering his mouth with his sweater paws before snuggling back against Louis' warm body.

"I think someone's ready for bed," Liam suggests.

Harry's never heard so many good ideas in one day.

As the last fire burns out, he and Louis untangle themselves from their chair, say their goodnights, and crawl into Harry's tent for one final night. They zip their sleeping bags together, strip down to their pants and hoodies, and get settled in.

"Today was nice," Harry says, lying on his side and facing Louis in the dark. He can't make out a single outline of his face, not a single strand of his hair, but he can feel him, practically radiating heat across the space between them.

He feels a hand bridge the gap, fingers tentatively reaching out for him, brushing his stomach, sliding up, curving around his waist.

"You going to call me when we get back to the city?" Louis asks.

"I still don't have your number," Harry chuckles softly.

Louis groans and shifts closer, miserable laugh bubbling out from between his lips. "Why are we so bad at this?"

He squeezes at Harry's hip, slides his hand beneath Harry's hoodie and settles his warm palm over Harry's bare skin. Harry almost melts under the touch. He could probably burn a hole through his sleeping bag if he thought too hard about it, seep through the dirt, the rock, the gravel beneath them like some sort of magma flowing back to the center of the earth.

Instead, he wriggles across the space between them until he's bumping Louis' knees and tangling their legs together, until he's got an arm around Louis' waist and a hand on his chest and Louis' hand has slid completely up the back of his hoodie.

"Someone's needy," Louis teases, breath ghosting over Harry's jaw. "Getting brave now that you think I won't feed you to the wolves."

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?"

"Please don't," Harry murmurs and steals a quick kiss from Louis' parted lips. "I haven't had the chance to thoroughly woo you yet."

"Alright, Casanova," Louis snorts. "Save it for Manchester."

"I will," Harry nods. "I'm going to date you so hard, you won't even know what's happening."

"Good," Louis laughs and scratches gently at Harry's spine. "You've got three days before I move out. Use your time wisely."

He kisses Harry before Harry can get too sad about the lack of time they have. They've already wasted so much playing their foolish games, and now all that's left for them is three measly days. It sucks, but maybe that's what they deserve for the appalling way they've behaved around each. The universe is teaching them a lesson.

Still, Harry can't help the quiet laughter that trickles out of him every time he thinks about it while Louis starts kissing down his neck, while Louis comfortably straddles his waist, while Louis tugs both of their hoodies up over their heads and rocks against him in the dark. It's a sort of pained laugh, an _I can't believe we actually did that_ laugh, but it's laughter all the same.

\---

The last morning dawns bright and early, the forest waking up and coming to life around them hours before Harry even dares to open his eyes. With Louis' arm lying limp across his waist and a warm, steady breath puffing against the side of his neck, Harry reckons he isn't obligated to move or acknowledge the light filtering through his eyelids until someone comes knocking on his tent.

Luckily, when they do come knocking, it's late and both Harry and Louis are awake, relatively clothed, and no longer dry humping each other.

"Lads?" Niall's tentative voice calls from outside, giving the tent a little shake. "If you've finished having sex or whatever, we're all set to leave. All you have to do is throw this tent in the back of your car, H."

"Thanks," Harry says, voice still clouded with sleep. "We'll be out in a second."

Louis waits until Niall's footsteps fade away before he snorts and flattens a hand to Harry's chest, shoving him off.

"Told you they could all hear us," he says.

Harry doesn't even have the capacity to be embarrassed about it.

He digs the last pair of clean shorts from his bag and changes into them, throwing his hoodie back on for the long drive home. Together, he and Louis make quick work of the tent, disassembling it, bundling it up, boxing it, and throwing it in the boot of Harry's car. The four of them give the campsite one final sweep for anything they might have missed, and then it's just them and their cars, ready to say goodbye.

It's a bit scary, not knowing when they'll all see each other again like this. Niall's been Harry's best mate since the start of uni, since Harry took him to that gay bar, since he offered Niall his first same-sex kiss and consequently proceeded to forget about it. And Liam - Liam had thrown together the party that had started it all. He'd brought Harry to Louis, and even after the quick fallout, even after Louis must have had some real choice words to say about that curly-headed tosser from the night in the bathtub, Liam still tried to bring them together on occasion and force them to work their differences out. Like this camping trip. Harry can certainly thank him for that.

With Louis, it's scary for completely different reasons. Whatever they're doing, it's still so, so new. Harry doesn't want to rush anything between them, but with the time constraints they're working with, as soon as they leave this forest, he feels like he has to take action.

"I'll see you again before you move?" he asks, leaning against the side of his car and trying to turn his phone on for the first time since they drove into their campsite.

Louis nods, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "You can help me finish packing."

"Okay," Harry says. "I can do that."

"I'll make you do all the heavy lifting," Louis tells him.

"While you sit there and talk shit about me?"

"Exactly," Louis says and grabs Harry's phone from between his fingers as soon as the screen lights up. He enters his number into the contacts, listing himself as simply _Louis_ followed by two flame emojis.

"You sure that's the right number?" Harry asks.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Yes," he says and slaps the phone to Harry's chest. "Call me when you get home. Please."

"If I don't, you can just assume I'm not interested."

Louis bites his bottom lip again and pinches Harry's nipple. "Fuck off, Styles."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Harry checks. He grabs both of Louis' wrists to keep from getting punched and tugs him closer.

"Yeah," Louis nods, stepping on Harry's toes. "Or tonight."

"Or tonight?"

"If I'm interested," Louis smirks.

Harry sighs and kisses him quickly on the cheek before pushing him off and reaching for the door handle.

"Drive safe, Lou," is all he says as he yanks the door open and climbs inside.

Louis gives him a backhanded slap on the bum and shuts the door in his face, leaving Harry with a great view of his backside as he saunters over to Liam's car, hips swaying in the most distracting way possible.

The passenger-side door swings open and Niall throws his rucksack inside.

"Christ," Niall mutters, taking one look at Harry's face as he sits down. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours and you're already in love."

Harry glances at his expression in the rearview mirror and realizes he's full-on glowing from ear to ear, eyes sparkling, dimple carved deep in his cheek, smile crooked and completely dopey. He scrubs a hand over his face and tries to get himself under control.

"Am not," he mumbles, jabbing his key into the ignition.

"Whatever you say," Niall laughs and pats his thigh across the console. He rolls down his window and plugs his phone into the speaker system, pulling up his favorite playlist. "Come on," he says. "Let's get the hell out of here."

\---

The first thing Harry does when he unlocks his flat and finishes hauling all of his camping gear inside is take a long, hot shower. The second thing he does is call Louis.

With his towel still wrapped around his waist, he flops down on his bed and holds the phone to his ear. He doesn't know why his stomach is doing cartwheels. He doesn't know why the wait is making him so jittery.

"Hello?" Louis finally picks up on the fourth ring.

Harry exhales a sigh of relief, grinning up at his ceiling.

"Hi," he answers. He feels like his brain has left his body.

"Who's this?"

"It's, um. It's Harry," Harry says. "From Liam's party."

There's a stupid pause on the other end, Louis humming quietly to himself in thought. "Hmm," he says. "I can't remember a Harry. Was this a recent party?"

"No," Harry says with a huff of a laugh. "It was about three years ago? There was loads of snow, a bathtub, tequila. I gave you my number."

He doesn't know why he likes this boy at all.

"Hang on," Louis says. "Is this curly-haired Harry? With the ripped jeans and the mermaid tattoo?"

"That's me," Harry nods, scratching idly at his chest. "Just thought I'd call and maybe, like. Ask you out to dinner or something."

"Or something?"

"If you'd like," Harry shrugs. He's honestly not going to be picky. He just wants to spend a bit of time together.

"Sorry," Louis apologizes. "You're three years too late. I've changed my mind. You see, there's this fit bloke I sort of got together with on a camping trip recently and I'm actually waiting for him to give me a call. I should probably hang up right now in case I miss him, and-"

_"Louis,"_ Harry sighs with exasperation. "Text me your address. I'm picking you up at six and we're going out."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"That's literally what I just said," Louis comments just because he knows it'll get on Harry's nerves. He's right. It does.

"Wear something nice," Harry tells him. "No joggers."

"Wear joggers. Got it."

"I'm hanging up," Harry says.

"Go for it."

Harry ends the call without much more of a warning and sets his phone on the bed beside him. Ten seconds later, it chimes with a text from Louis, including his address. Ten seconds after that, it rings again, Louis' name and his ridiculous flame emojis flashing across the screen.

Harry picks up with another sigh.

"Yeah?"

"Hi," Louis says, laughing quietly.

A lazy grin spreads back across Harry's face as he rolls onto his stomach and switches the phone to his other ear.

"Hi, yourself."

\---

It's just starting to drizzle when Harry steps out of the tube station amidst the evening rush-hour traffic. Everyone in their suits and pencil skirts bustles past him on their way out the door, one or two of them bumping into him, another going as far as to shoot him a sidelong glare as they step around him and hurry home down the wet London street.

He sighs, shoulders slumping, eyes squinting through the rain for the nearest street sign. Next time he decides to use public transportation, he's going to wait until the entire population of London is either sitting down for their evening meals or tucked safely away in their offices. He checks the bouquet of roses clutched between his hands for any damage, and, upon deeming them unharmed, starts heading in the supposed direction of Louis' flat.

It's not far from the tube, as Louis had told him over their last video chat. Just a few streets away, next to the old brick building with the square flower boxes out front. Harry knows how to get there. He's Googled it about a thousand times over, has used Street View to imagine Louis' walk home from his new job every night, because that's when Louis likes to call him the most, when he's outside and doesn't have Netflix or chores or any of his late-night work to distract him from the sound of Harry's voice. At least that's what he tells Harry, and Harry would like to believe him.

Up ahead, the brick building comes into view, and Harry's heart starts to beat just a little harder. He's nervous. Sue him. It's been three weeks since he last saw Louis, three weeks after three short days spent sneaking in and out of Louis' bedroom while Louis' uni flatmate sat on the couch and silently judged him. Alright, maybe they'd gotten a bit carried away with all of the sex, maybe Harry should have tried harder to keep his mouth shut, maybe they shouldn't have tried packing all of Louis' belongings up at three in the morning, but that's beside the point.

The point is, it's been three weeks since Harry spent three days giving tiny piece of his heart after tiny piece of his heart to the boy in the building in front of him, and he's not sure how things are going to be for them after all this time apart.

It's not like their relationship has a super strong foundation to keep it steady. It's still a newborn, wobbly on its legs, trying to make its way in the world.

Harry switches the bouquet to his other hand, takes a deep breath, and buzzes up to Louis' flat.

Nothing happens.

He tries again, checking the number next to the button, pulling out his phone, checking the time. He isn't early. He made sure to schedule his last flat viewing for later in the afternoon, hoping it would give Louis enough time to get home and clean up a bit before he arrived.

Except Harry has arrived, and Louis doesn't seem to be home.

He presses the buzzer one last time before taking a seat on the bench in front of the building and giving Louis a call.

"Hey," Louis answers, smile audible in his voice. "You almost here?"

"Yeah," Harry frowns, "I've been trying to buzz you. Are you still at work?"

"No, I got in half an hour ago," Louis says. "I haven't heard the buzzer go off."

"Okay, well I'm here," Harry tells him. He waits for the door behind him to swing open, but it still doesn't budge. "You can unlock the door now."

"I'm trying," Louis mutters. "Is it not opening?"

"Nope." Harry gets up and walks back to the entrance, giving the door a little tug just to see if it's stuck on something. "I think it's broken, Lou. The universe is trying to keep us apart."

"Guess you should just get back on the train and go," Louis sighs. Harry can hear him shuffling around, a door swinging shut in the background. "I'm on my way down. See you in a bit."

And then the line goes dead and Harry's left staring at his soggy reflection in the glass door before him. He fixes his hair, stomach doing little backflips, hands a little shaky with nerves. He checks his teeth, adjusts the floral-patterned shirt he'd found hanging in a thrift shop a week ago, pretends there aren't tiny rain drops staining it, and starts tapping his toes impatiently.

He just wants to see Louis. He wants to pick up where they left off, wants to be able to hear his voice in person, see that smile again, make him laugh, wants to kiss him and touch him and reacquaint himself with the person he'd only briefly gotten to know.

He cups his hands over his eyes and squints through the glass trying to see if he can spot Louis running down the stairs. It's been almost four minutes.

"You're fucking unbelievable."

Harry nearly jumps out of his skin. He slaps a hand over his chest as he wheels around, breath coming short as he finds Louis standing behind him, arms crossed, shaking his head.

"Do I need to send you back to primary so you can relearn your numbers, Styles?"

"What?" Harry exhales dumbly.

"Six Thirteen," Louis says, taking a step closer and jabbing a finger into the address on the front of the building. He looks fucking breathtaking, thighs wrapped up in the tightest black jeans, denim button-up unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. Harry has no idea where he came from, but he'd really like to kiss him.

Louis snaps his fingers in front of his face. "Are you even paying attention?"

"No," Harry answers. "Hi. You look really nice."

"Thanks," Louis smiles back. "I did tell you my building was number Six _Fifteen_ , yeah?"

Harry blinks at the sign over Louis' shoulder and realizes his mistake. "Oh."

Louis snorts. "Yeah. _Oh."_

"I swear I know how to read," Harry insists because this is starting to get embarrassing between the two of them. 

"This is why you're going into radio and I'm working in film," Louis laughs. "No accountants or mathematicians here." He glances at the flowers still clutched in Harry's hand and takes a step forwards. "Those are pretty."

"Pink roses," Harry tells him as if it isn't obvious. "They're for you."

"They better be," Louis nods and takes the bouquet from Harry's outstretched hands, burying his nose in the flowers for one ridiculously charming second and inhaling. When he lifts his head and blinks up at Harry again, his smile is sweet, his cheeks a bit pink, tiny raindrops starting to collect in his hair. "Come here," he says.

"Why?" Harry smirks, watching Louis' gaze flit down to his mouth. "You going to kiss me or something?"

"Yeah, maybe," Louis shrugs.

And then he does.

His free hand curls around the back of Harry's neck as he pulls Harry towards him, and their lips meet, warm and soft, like they've been doing this forever and not just for the lesser part of a month. And that's how Harry knows this is all going to work. Because it's so simple, wrapping Louis up in his arms, breathing him in, shutting his eyes and just allowing himself to enjoy this quiet moment. It's easy. It makes him wonder where they might have been if he hadn't smudged the last digit of his cellphone number on Louis' arm that first night together. It makes him wonder where they _will_ be, where this might go, what the future has in store for them. He's hopeful.

"Would you like to see my flat?" Louis asks when the kiss breaks. He finds Harry's fingers at his side and links their hands together, tugging him away from the building that he clearly doesn't live in.

"Is this going to be a thing with us?" Harry asks. "Are we going to be terrible with numbers forever?"

"God, I hope not," Louis laughs, struggling to pull out his keys with the hand clutching his flowers. "We're going to be that couple that can never remember their own anniversary."

He passes Harry the roses and unlocks the main door. In Harry's defense, it looks exactly like the one they'd just been standing in front of.

"Anniversary?" Harry muses, following Louis inside. "You mean you're going to keep me around long enough for that?"

Louis presses the button for the lift and turns around to lean against the wall.

"If you're lucky," he says and beckons Harry closer with a crook of his finger.

Harry crowds up into his space, one hand finding the wall next to Louis' head, the other curling under Louis' jaw to tilt his head up.

"I think I will be," he says. He kisses Louis again, kisses him into the lift when the doors open, kisses him the entire way up, until they're inside Louis' flat, until they need to stop and, like, catch a breath, have a tour of the place, chat a bit. And then they go back to kissing some more. They've wasted so much time being insufferable with each other over a simple, harmless mistake, they can't afford to waste anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](http://anylessreal.tumblr.com)
> 
> [fic post.](http://anylessreal.tumblr.com/post/160162066495/the-melody-you-never-heard-bananasandboots-harry)


End file.
